


The Cottage of Lost Gay

by AnnEllspethRaven, Zhie



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Withdrawal, Body Image, Bunniverse, Cultural Differences Between Different Types of Elves, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drug Withdrawal, F/M, Fisting, Gardens & Gardening, Gay Sex, Gender Identity, Gender Roles, Intersex, Intervention, Kinks, Libraries, M/M, Multi, Other, Polygamy, Rape trauma, Religion, Secrets, Self-Harm, Sexuality, Swingers, Talking Animals, Therapy, also one chapter that's like 50K words sorry not sorry but sorry, did we mention the sex?, discussion of conversation therapy and coping with the past, farm life, graphic conversion therapy stuff, honestly what isn't there except incest...., really large amounts of gay sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-07-17 13:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 443,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16096565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnEllspethRaven/pseuds/AnnEllspethRaven, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: I don't think we can tell you any more than what the title and tags can. Follows the story "Sacred". Enjoy.





	1. Day One

Day One  
Erestor paused his transplanting to adjust the triangular cloth tied at the base of his hairline. Frustrated, he elected to briefly remove it, the better to blot the perspiration pooling around his eyebrows and sheeting down his face. Twice already, his eyes had been stung by the salty sweat, and his hands were too dirty to use for wiping his face. Not that it entirely stopped him, which explained the odd streaks here and there on his cheeks and nose. 

Arguably it had become too warm to continue working, as he looked at the remaining plant starts--there were only twenty. Yes, he was hot and tiring of soiled hands, but all he needed to do was finish the work. Then, he could look forward to returning indoors and pouring clear water over himself in the washtub. Then he would be clean, dry, and able to enjoy the afternoon like a civilized elf. Sighing, he tied the scarf once again around his head, keeping as much of it against his forehead as he could manage. The rest of his glossy dark hair was twisted up into a rough knot, in order to keep stray sprays of soil out of it.

“Come here, little squash,” he told the vegetable. Carefully his deft fingers lifted it by the crown out of the seedling tray, and it pleased him to see the tell-tale white growth of healthy roots that were at just the right developmental stage for moving into the ground. In the distance, some rude voices broke the silence. 

“Greeeeeeeeeeeeeen fields are the place to be!” sing-songed one, whilst his companion laughed. 

“Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaarmer livin’ is the life fer me!” Now (whoever they were) made a game of it.

“Ooooooooats everywhere both far and wide!”

“Rootin’ like a pig out in the countryside!” 

The guffaws increased in volume, as Erestor closed his eyes and sighed at the auditory disturbance. The boors were drawing nearer, and he was going to do his level best to ignore them. Maybe he had not yet been seen. One after another, he lovingly placed the little plants into the spaces he made. Scoop, place, mound with soil, press firmly--but not too firmly. He smiled to himself, remembering how just last week he had tried to explain to Fingon the nuances of ‘bringing the roots into contact with the soil.’ But not too much contact. At the end of it, his husband was exasperated enough to give him a coveted spanking, the memory of which only widened his grin. That had been a wonderful day, and a lovely memory. So lost in his reminiscences was he that he failed to notice just how near the strangers were, and that they were apparently not passing by.

“Roll him!” called out one to the other, and immediately Erestor panicked. He lurched to his feet-- dropping his little plant-- and bounded over the rows gracelessly. His knees were stiff from his work, and protested mightily. In abject fear, he called out in thought to Fingon and Glorfindel. With the best sprint he could manage, Erestor added a burst of speed. Something unfortunate slipped ominously inside of his knee, but the heavy footfalls in pursuit drove him on.

“I expected better of you,” the one called out to his companion. A noise of disgust came from right behind Erestor. Immediately afterward he felt a strong hand latch onto his ankle, bringing him down.

“Leave me alone!” he shouted, struggling to get up, but a heavy body had him pinned with both hands held behind his back. “Nooooo!” Thrashing, he fought the weight on top of him for all he was worth, but to little avail. His head covering had now shifted so as to obscure his vision. 

“You get no points for that,” his assailant’s companion scoffed from a distance. “Worst takedown I have ever seen!”

“Let me go,” Erestor pleaded miserably, tears leaking from his closed eyes. 

A tremendous crash ensued, with Glorfindel having launched himself at Erestor’s hooded captor. Erestor found himself freed but not certain he should move, and dimly aware that Glorfindel was rather vigorously pummeling the other elf. 

“Hey!!” came the shout from behind him, which at least drove him to push back the cloth so he could see a very tall figure moving quickly in an attempt to restrain Glorfindel--and succeeding. This second one, also cloaked, had Glorfindel’s arms pinned at his side, managing to successfully lift the struggling blond off his feet. 

Before Erestor even had a chance to think, Fingon appeared and threw a hard punch at the face of the one restraining Glorfindel. When the blow connected, a very sharp crack was heard by all parties, and the ellon was knocked onto his posterior from the sheer force of the blow, with Glorfindel falling down onto him. Fingon’s bodily changes made him more than an even match for...for… “What in hell is wrong with all of you?” Maedhros cried out, struggling against the wrestling hold Fingon now had on him and trying to work out what was different.

“What the hell is wrong with us??” Fingon almost shouted. “Russandol! What in fuck were you even thinking, doing that to him?” Releasing his former lover in mild disgust, he raced over now with Glorfindel to help Erestor, only to be met with a hiss of pain when they tried to help him up.

“My knee,” Erestor whispered, now utterly mortified.

“What did we do?” Gildor asked, shaking out his cloak. “Good punches, Fin. You have not lost your touch. We made enough noise to break the doors of Mandos. You did not recognize our voices?”

Fingon looked at Erestor’s reddening cheeks, to Gildor, and back again. “Obviously not, you...you...ugh!” He shook his head, disgusted, and took a deep breath to try to center himself. “Son of mother fucking balrog, just son-of-a-bitch me out of a ten story castle,” he muttered under his breath.

Gildor came near now, concerned. “Erestor, I am so sorry. I thought you knew it was us.”

Erestor could not speak. His chin trembled and he was blinking back tears of pain and humiliation. He only shook his head ‘No,’ before turning his head into Fingon’s chest and wishing he could simply vanish into thin air. At times like these, he felt… old. Not the wise sort of old that came with years of continuous life, but the feeble weakness he hated that came upon him almost without warning and reminded him that the physical and emotional strains of his past had indeed taken a toll he tried not to think about.

“Obviously, he did not,” Fingon said, his voice dripping with sarcasm while he stroked the dark head. “Can you walk, cupcake?” 

“He is not sure if he can or not,” Glorfindel said, slowly calming down and levelling mighty glares at both their friends--but especially Gildor, who he gently but firmly moved back some paces. “Come on, Eres. Hold onto us, we are going to bring you to your feet and see if you can stand.”

A moment later determined that yes, Erestor could walk--but should not, for his knee was already swelling. Fingon took charge without hesitation. “Alright, you two troublemakers get the door. Better yet, if someone goes down to the cellar and gets something to drink. And to... celebrate your visit. I will carry him.” Other words were lost under Fingon’s breath in a stream of mutterings that did not sound all that welcoming.

Maedhros appeared before Erestor, having painfully returned to his feet, rubbing at the bruises on his hip and backside. He laid a hand on the tanned skin of Erestor’s arm, well aware that every motion was being scrutinized by Fingon. “I truly am sorry.” The words were said in a tone that Fingon was not used to hearing; one of genuine compassion and apology. 

Erestor managed a nod and a crooked smile. “Give him a little time,” Fingon demanded, waving them forward and lifting Erestor carefully.

“Sorry,” whispered Erestor to both his mates.

“Do not be sorry,” Glorfindel said sharply, still rather agitated. “You fully believed you were being attacked and you had a reason to believe it. Idiots,” he hissed. 

“Ex-lovers usually are,” Fingon observed drily. 

A chortle erupted from Erestor, and a smile. “Thank you for rescuing me from our friends,” he said with chagrin. “It...it did something in here, to see you both defending me like that.” His hand rested over his heart for a moment. “My plants…” he suddenly recalled. “I took the seedlings out… someone needs to--”

“I will care for them, right now,” Glorfindel answered, moving off to gather up the last few baby herbs in order to deposit them back into the trays they were previously in, but then pausing. “This is stupid.” Dropping down, he swiftly placed the last four starts in the earth, and patted them down just as Erestor had done. Pleased, he returned digging tool and empty tray to the greenhouse before heading toward the cottage. Shortly, he would return and make a pass with the watering can, but all should be well enough for now.

Once back inside, he found Erestor on the sofa, propped up but largely on his back. A towel was under his leg, held up by two plump cushions. Gildor appeared to be fussing with a very long and narrow strip of fabric, while Fingon probed and pushed at Erestor’s swelling knee.

“I am sure it is fine,” Erestor tried to protest.

“Which one of us is an accomplished athlete and therefore experienced in treating all manner of joint injuries?” Fingon’s intense hazel eyes held those of his husband, while Gildor and Maedhros somehow maintained expressions that did not betray their amusement.

“You are,” Erestor muttered, dropping his head. 

Glorfindel’s eyebrows raised, as he recognized Erestor’s sudden capitulation for what it was. “Gentlemen, if you would not mind? I could use assistance preparing a luncheon for all of us. In the kitchen. You will find fresh towels, and a ewer and basin in your room already prepared should you wish to refresh yourselves first. Asfaloth has already cared for your horses.”

Gildor looked at Maedhros. “That sounds an awful lot like, get your asses in the kitchen and quit staring at Erestor, does it not?”

“You first,” Maedhros indicated. “I want to watch your ass wiggle and sway as it gets in the kitchen.”

Relaxing a tiny bit, Glorfindel paused long enough to kiss Erestor’s forehead and caress his cheek, before he brought up the rear. While Maedhros had no dearth of physical attractiveness, he still felt more like kicking the ass in front of him than admiring it, and reminded himself to breathe deeply.

“I always thought you were extra sexy when you asserted yourself,” Gildor told Glorfindel approvingly once they were all in the kitchen. “I can see how good you all are for each other.”

Glorfindel raised his eyes to meet those of the one with whom he had shared so, so many nights and secrets in ages past. “I love you too, Gildor. Now slice this cucumber, and make sure you do a nice job. Not too thick, not too thin.”

“Ouch,” Gildor grinned, as Maedhros guffawed appreciatively. “Mae, I think he just cut me short.”

“He did indeed,” the tall redhead grinned. “But you had it coming.”

At this, Glorfindel burst into laughter, gathering both of them into a hug. “You two are still assholes, but I have missed you. Now slice the damn cucumber, and someone open the bottles of wine.”

“Aye, Captain,” answered Gildor. “Lieutenant Asshole, on the task of opening the wine bottles.” Gildor easily found the corkscrew and saw to his task while Maedhros set up a modified workstation for himself so that he could keep the cucumber steady with his forearm while he cut the slices.

The door banged open, and Glorfindel cleared his throat as Asfaloth strolled into the house, door left open behind him. 

“Whaaaat? Oh.” Asfaloth walked back to the door to pointedly shut it. “What do you expect from someone brought up in a barn?”

“Did you take care of the horses?” asked Glorfindel, who did not so much as waver in his expression, for it was the sixth time that week the barn door joke had presented itself.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes,” said Asfaloth as he tapped the knuckles of his fists together. “I really took care of the--”

“Sorry, who the fuck are you?” Maedhros had the knife pointed at the pale figure before him, who looked like an ellon, spoke like an ellon, and yet…

“Asfaloth? Holy fuck. Asfaloth.” Gildor put his hands on his hips and circled around the horse. He whined when he came around behind him. “Mae Mae, he has such pretty hair. Why does he have prettier hair than I do?”

“Why does he fucking talk?” replied Maedhros.

“What, you get to be the only creatures who talk?” countered Asfaloth. “Eagles talk. Trees talk. Tom Bombadil talks. Well… I mean, he says words, so that sort of counts…”

“But you are a horse!” exclaimed Maedhros.

Asfaloth stamped his foot. “And Huan was a dog. Horses are so much smarter than dogs. What makes you think I would not be able to talk?”  
.  
Behind him, Gildor had taken a length of the long mane and was stroking it. “Mae Mae… it never tangles… this is gorgeous…” Gildor wiped away a single tear and Glorfindel rolled his eyes.

“Well, while the three of you get acquainted, I am going to check on things in the other room,” said Glorfindel, who took the bottle of wine that had been opened with him.

\- - -

While all of the banter unfolded in the kitchen, Fingon carefully bound Erestor’s leg. “I apologize for sounding so dictatorial,” Fingon said quietly. “Adrenaline had the best of me. I love you and I…” He sighed. “I need to treat you like a grown man. If you really do not want the bandage I will stop.” Erestor continued to stare downward, behaving as though he might not have heard Fingon’s words. “Cupcake?”

“The bandage is fine,” Erestor smiled weakly, leaving Fingon to continue carefully winding the fabric and tensioning it properly, making fine adjustments where necessary.

“But?” Fingon asked, carefully raising Erestor’s chin so as to see his eyes.

“But something happened out there.” The dark eyes shifted away in trepidation. “And I think I do not want to understand because it means remembering things I want to forget.”

Fingon pulled him closer, abandoning the roll of cloth for the moment. “I am with you, baby. Tell me what you need.”

Glorfindel joined them now, unobtrusively lowering himself to sit next to Erestor. 

Erestor closed his eyes and leaned into Fingon’s warmth--and safety. “I think I need to stop making myself forget, and I think I need help to do that because on my own I will just make excuses and find reasons not to. Like I have always done. I had… a sort of flashback when I was on the ground, and something in my head is encouraging me to stop keeping it all held in.”

“We can talk tonight, then, when we are alone?” Fingon asked.

“I think...I think maybe Gildor could actually help,” Glorfindel offered. “He was around for so, so many of the times of trouble.” Stroking Erestor’s head, Glorfindel actually was surprised when Fingon nodded in agreement to the suggestion. It was the fear in Erestor’s eyes that caused Glorfindel to pause. 

Erestor was shaking now, and gripped Glorfindel’s arm tight. “Not Gildor. I just… I cannot… I need… not him. Just… just us. I do not think I can handle more than us. I might not even be able to handle that.”

“Alright,” Fingon told Erestor, adding several soft kisses. “Knee first. Talk...soon. Just the three of us, sweetling.”

Trembling a little, Erestor wondered if his resolve could hold. He loosened his grip on Glorfindel, who took possession of his hand and caressed the back of it with his thumb. “Maybe you could try writing it down instead,” suggested Glorfindel.

“I will be your courage, if that is what you need,” Fingon soothed. 

Erestor closed his eyes again, and allowed his upper body to fall back to the cushions. Biting his lip, he nodded.

“I love you, Eres.”

“That is why this time, I have a chance.” Erestor’s hand found Fingon’s leg, and rested it there. Guiltily, he turned to look at Glorfindel. “I love you so much. I did not mean this to sound as I now realize it must have.”

Glorfindel took Erestor’s hand, covering it with kisses. “Ress, it is the truth. I wanted to help you. More than anything. My love for you is bottomless. But...we had thousands of years together and we never could solve this. What you said is simply true. I take no offense. Káno is the gift Eru has given to both of us, the one who can guide us when we cannot do so for ourselves. And I think in other ways, we do the same for him. We all need each other,” he smiled wanly.

“Lunch!” Maedhros entered the room, pushing an old wooden trolley adorned with mother-of-pearl accents and lapis lazuli where the pieces had not fallen off with age. The wheels creaked as it moved over the rug. “I made mimosas for us because it felt like the right thing to do,” he said as he positioned the cart near the counter and began to move things up onto the higher surface.

Behind him, Asfaloth walked, carrying a tray with the cucumber sandwiches on it. Following after was Gildor, carrying nothing except that he had a length of Asfaloth’s hair over his arm and was petting it. “How can it be so soft? This is unfair. What do you use to make it like this?” he asked once Asfaloth set the tray down.

“Uh… water. I think just water. Right, boss?” he asked, looking at Glorfindel.

“I have no idea how to respond to any of that,” Glorfindel admitted to his partners.

“The great thing about lunchtime is that you do not have to,” said Fingon as he stood up to retrieve food for himself and his companions. “You can just put food in your mouth, smile, nod, and pretend you are listening.”

“Sounds like that comes from experience,” remarked Maedhros as he handed Fingon a plate.

Fingon smiled and nodded. “How do you think I survived all of grandmother’s reunions?”

“I just thought you did the same as I did,” admitted Maedhros. “Booze. Lots of booze,” he said, pouring himself an extra large mimosa.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes at the ongoing spectacle. “Gildor, you will always occupy a special place in my heart, but let go of the poor horse’s hair, sit down and eat. Later on I promise you can, uhm...dammit. There is absolutely no way to finish this sentence without saying something inadvertently obscene.”

“Oh! And after lunch, maybe you could put flowers in my hair?” Asfaloth tucked his fists close to his chest under his chin. “I keep asking and things keep happening and busy, busy, busy, no time to make Asfaloth pretty,” he pouted, giving Fingon a pointed look as he passed.

Fingon frowned and settled in between Glorfindel and Erestor with a selection of sandwiches and fruit. “What? I let you sleep in the house? What more do you want from me?”

“Flowers. In my hair. All the time. Do you even listen to me?” Asfaloth pushed his bottom lip out in a very pathetic manner as Fingon shoved a sandwich into his mouth, chewed it with full cheeks, attempted to smile, and nodded. Asfaloth’s ears drooped. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Mae Mae, did you see that?” Gildor practically squealed with excitement. “Did you see his ears? They MOVE.”

“Yeah, I saw,” mumbled Maedhros as the same time Fingon peered over with a smirk as he swallowed his sandwich and parroted, “Mae Mae?”

Maedhros glared in Fingon’s general direction while Gildor gave Asfaloth the slightest bow and said, “I would be honored to beflower your hair.”

“Not a word,” said Glorfindel from across the room. “Also, real close to an actual word you do not want to use around him.”

Neither seemed to catch Glorfindel’s meaning, for Asfaloth was excitedly dancing back and forth while Gildor took one more turn at stroking the silky mane.

“Uhm...behave yourself, Asfaloth. With the flowers. Flowering.” Glorfindel ran his hand down his face as he walked over to the bar counter and surveyed the options. “Afterward if you want maybe he can, uh, maybe you two could…” Words failed him, as he openly stared at the horse.

“He can ride me!” Asfaloth pranced around gleefully, while Glorfindel poured himself a very sizable mimosa and sighed deeply.

Erestor’s eyes widened, before the absurdity of the conversation had fully sunk in. Blushing, he wiggled a little lower into the cushions. 

“Is he still talking about horse things?” Maedhros asked pointedly, one eyebrow arched.

“Yes,” Glorfindel murmured. “You have nothing to fear regarding Gildor, Asfaloth does not think like that unless it is about another...um, you know.”

“I like mares!” shouted Asfaloth now that he knew what the conversation was about. 

Glorfindel smacked his palm against his forehead. “That.”

“We could have matching flowered hair!” Gildor went to the window and peered out. “So many selections!” he said as he looked under the window at the blue and yellow blooms wildly growing near the cottage.

Erestor leaned around Fingon to see what Gildor was referring to. “Those are weeds,” he said.

“One man’s weeds is another man’s beflowered crown,” Gildor said firmly.

“You need to stop using that word,” sighed Glorfindel as he tipped his head back to finish his drink. Maedhros was ready to pour him more just as soon as the glass was on the counter. “I wash my hands of this. Fair warning was given.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Maedhros wanted to know.

Glorfindel stared at him blankly for a moment. 

“It means,” Erestor replied softly but with a smirk, “that beflowers will not stop with de flowers. Because de flowers is not just a noun.”

Gildor now pointed a finger at Erestor and shook it about. “That sounds like one of your riddly riddles, mister riddle man.” 

Asfaloth, who was just delighted now to have an ally, crossed his arms over his chest. “Uh huh. What he just said.”

“I think I need more of this, too,” said Maedhros as he filled his glass nearly to the top and clinked it against the one Glorfindel held. “Watch out, Asfaloth, or he will end up recruiting you to be part of his economic circus.”

“Hey. You promised not to use that phrase anymore,” scolded Gildor.

“Economic circus?” repeated Fingon with interest.

Maedhros sipped his drink before he answered. “When Gildor goes out to sell the goods my brothers and I make, he likes to take some animal companions with him.”

“Good lord, you do not have another cobra, do you?” questioned Erestor.

“Noooo…” Gildor cleared his throat and added a few words that sounded like ‘not currently’, to which Erestor groaned. “Snakes are so interesting.”

“What animals do you have?” pressed Fingon. “Currently.”

“Just Puddles and Stinky,” answered Maedhros with less enthusiasm than Gildor might have. “And Guava, but Guava stays home.”

Fingon nibbled on the edges of a sandwich and scrutinized Maedhros in an attempt to figure out whether or not he was being serious. “What are Puddles and Stinky?” he finally asked.

Gildor answered this time. “Puddles is Valinor’s most intelligent and pretty poodle, and Stinky is my most precious little boy.”

Everyone else turned to Maedhros who said, “Stinky is a giant rat.”

“Capybara!” corrected Gildor. “He is not a rat.” He clicked his tongue.

“Really?” asked Erestor, more than a little interested.

“Ress,” Glorfindel sighed. “I am not going to judge. I just ask that you remember Bernard?”

Fingon stared open-mouthed at his mates, catching the faintest snatches of images from their minds.

“That was different,” Erestor snapped. “In fact, it was emblematic of what happens when creatures are not loved and valued for who they are.”

“Oh sweet Eru,” Glorfindel whispered, holding out the now-empty glass to Maedhros again.

“With pleasure,” said Maedhros as he refilled Glorfindel’s glass.

Gildor came now to the counter and looked at the nearly empty pitcher. “Do the rest of us get any of that?” he asked as Maedhros appeared ready to pour the remaining portion into his own glass.

“Nope.” Maedhros set the pitcher down on the counter, now drained of the bubbly pastel concoction. “Besides, you need to stay sober so your flower rows are not half-assed off-kilter,” he reminded Gildor.

“Fair enough,” said Gildor as he picked up a sandwich and handed another to Asfaloth.

“Alright,” Asfaloth replied affably enough. He appeared about to shove the entire sandwich into his mouth, then stopped and looked around. “I just have one question. Who is Bernard?”

“Bernard is the reason we could not have nice things in Moria,” mumbled Glorfindel.

“Bernard was just misunderstood,” said Erestor softly.

Fingon looked at Maedhros, who shrugged. “I get the feeling Bernard is going to turn out to be a dragon or a balrog or something,” he said to his ex.

“Close!” said Gildor. “Giant tentacled creature that Erestor raised outside of the entryway to Moria.”

“It was a terrible idea,” Glorfindel said firmly.

Erestor finished his sandwich, wiping his fingers very carefully, before he looked across the room squarely at Gildor. “Why not tell them where Bernard came from, Gildor?”

“Oh…” a faint blush crept up Gildor’s neck. “No one wants to hear about--”

“Someone won him from a traveling caravan… thing. I barely remember why we were there or--”

“Because Maglor wanted to go,” Gildor cut in.

Erestor nodded. “Right. Because Maglor wanted to go. And then someone wanted to bet on the giraffe races--”

“Giraffe races?” Both Glorfindel and Asfaloth were intrigued for different reasons at the same time.

“--because he thought he would win a giraffe, until he was told he could choose between a camel and a mystery creature--”

“The mystery could have been that it was a giraffe,” Gildor said as innocently as possible.

“--which turned out to be a bucket with tentacles sticking out of it.” Erestor crossed his arms over his chest. “We had no idea what to even feed it for the first two weeks.”

“And then it tried to lure Maglor’s horse to his barrel, and, well, we… you know, we can discuss this later,” said Gildor as soon as he heard Asfaloth whine. “What counts is… I actually forgot what this was about, but I can assure you, no more mystery creatures.”

“You had no idea what a capybara was when it was offered to you in trade,” Maedhros reminded his mate.

“Sure, but, you know…” Gildor shrugged. “Does a capybara sound like it has tentacles and eats other animals? I rest my case.”

“How does anything sound like anything?” Erestor asked, baffled. “Can you tell me what a thylacine looks like based on its name, or a solenon or a langur? Honestly.”

“Boys! Boys!” Asfaloth intervened smoothly. “I want de flowers in my mane, and I kind of want it now, and this running around with Gildor sounds too fabulous, so if you are done arguing about some ugly thing that has no comparison to fabulous me, can we please get a move-on?” He batted his astonishingly long eyelashes.

“You know, I really like him,” said Gildor, once again starting to play with Asfaloth’s hair.

“You two run along,” Maedhros encouraged. Asfaloth grabbed Gildor’s hand and excitedly pranced out of the room.

“Did that really just happen?” Glorfindel asked wonderingly, gazing mournfully into his empty glass.

Fingon rose and kissed the golden head. “‘Fraid so.” He took hold of the empty glass and set it onto the cart. “I know that you and Maedhros had a project you wanted to work on, so why not take him up to your studio and I will call you down for supper later.”

“Great plan.” Maedhros downed the remainder of his glass before setting it beside the one Glorfindel had used. 

As soon as Fingon and Erestor were alone, Erestor groaned. “I probably just gave Gildor the idea to bring a thylacine home.”

Fingon patted Erestor’s knee. “What do we care? If he wants to take a thylacine back home, that gets to be Maedhros’ problem, not ours.”

Erestor smiled, and squeezed his husband’s hand. Closing his eyes, he settled into the cushions with a deep sigh. A moment later, he wondered, “What if I brought home a thylacine?” He recalled a large chicken, and the two-headed snake, and of course, Bernard.

“Of course you can have one.” Fingon kissed the side of Erestor’s head. “I can deny you nothing, darling.”

With a little frown, Erestor scrutinized Fingon. “Do you know what a thylacine is?”

“No, and I have a feeling now that I might regret that, and I still stand by my word,” Fingon replied.

Once again, Erestor smiled as he rested against Fingon. “And that is why I love you so,” he said.


	2. Day Two

The next morning was comprised of Glorfindel packing painting after painting carefully into wooden crates while Erestor sat on the sofa with his leg propped up, watching Glorfindel walk back and forth between the great room and several of the unused bedrooms which held his many works of art when they were not at the market with price tags on them.  Gildor joined them before lunch. He still had several dozen flowers -- or, weeds, as Erestor had pointed out -- woven into his hair from the day before. Asfaloth had already eaten his, but had already almost demanded a reprise that afternoon. To Erestor, as he watched Gildor look over his shoulder, it almost seemed as if the elf prone to wandering was now avoiding his new best friend.  Glorfindel paused in his work to greet Gildor and then sat down beside Erestor to rest for a moment. 

“I am not going to be able to go with you,” Erestor noted unhappily. “Not without being a hindrance. I am sorry.”

“You are hardly the one who should be sorry,” Glorfindel answered, glaring mildly at Gildor before pointing at him. “Your entertainment cost me my stunningly beautiful market partner. Erestor was going to help me get everything there and sell the paintings. I do not suppose you would care to make it up to me?” A dazzling smile and batted eyelashes followed.

“Spend the day with my favorite blond?  Easy answer to that, goldilocks. Wait… I should be my favorite blond,” realized Gildor.

“Friend?  Where are you, friend?”

Gildor slumped down in the chair he had chosen to sit in, which might have saved him being found had Asfaloth not come all the way into the room.  “Has anyone seen-- there you are!” Asfaloth came up beside Gildor’s chair and squished his head into a side hug. “Is it time for more flowers yet?  The other ones were delicious!”

“Still morning,” answered Gildor in a way that immediately told Glorfindel and Erestor that this had been the answer several times already.  “After lunch. Promise.”

“And then more frolicking and more flowers?  You could put flowers in my tail this time!” Asfaloth excitedly knocked his knuckles together.

“Sure,” said Gildor.  “Absolutely after lunch.  Right now, I am just a little occupied discussing the details of tomorrow’s market day.”

“I am going to the market tomorrow!  Are you going tomorrow?” Asfaloth head squished Gildor again.  “Are you coming with us? This will be so much fun! We can buy other flowers at the market!  Oh, gosh, I have to pick out a good saddle -- and I do not even like saddles! Oh! And bells!”  He now switched to Glorfindel, dropping down on his knees in front of him. “Can you put the bells on me tomorrow?  Oh please oh please oh--”

“Yes.  Yes, all the bells,” Glorfindel told him.  He kissed Erestor on the cheek and got up to resume his painting packing.

A happy squee and clapping of his fists together followed and Asfaloth was back on his feet again.  “Oh! That means Erestor will not be coming along!” He frowned. “How is your leg, Erestor?”

“Swollen,” Erestor answered matter-of-factly. “But it will heal. I hope you have a nice time tomorrow, helping Glorfindel. All of the little elflings will love you, with your flowers and bells on.” The words were spoken wistfully, for he had been looking forward to going and could already imagine Asfaloth’s appearance. The horse might be a pain in the ass in elven form but he was unquestionably gorgeous as an equine. Not that he needed to hear that; his head could already hardly fit through the stable door most days. “Uhm, I hate to barge in on your plans but...can someone harvest the beans and the okra? I cannot do it without making my knee worse and you know how it is with them.”

Glorfindel paused in his fussing with his paintings, remembering the time they ended up with overgrown okra pods and stringy beans for dinner because of this exact issue. “I think I can stop what I am doing here, and care for that. Gildor, you will need a glove and a knife, for you are helping me.”

“Fine, but I need no such thing,” insisted the flaxen-haired ellon.

“If you say so,” Glorfindel returned simply, shrugging and ensuring he had both items. “Then if I could bother you to bring one of those baskets, we can make short work of this.”

“This sounds like people-work.  Bye now!” Asfaloth skipped out of the room humming to himself as he went.  

“And if there are any ripe berries,” added Erestor just before the pair left, “I might like some berries if it is not too much trouble.”

“Nothing is too much trouble for you, sweetheart.”  Glorfindel blew Erestor a kiss and followed Gildor through the kitchen and out the door.  Gildor swung the basket back and forth as he walked to the gardens. “Please make sure you do not do that once we start putting produce in the basket,” warned Glorfindel.

“I know that,” said Gildor, though he looked away quickly and steadied the basket.  “So, this market we are going to -- this is the big market, right?”

“Yes. If we are very fortunate, this will involve influxes of visitors coming off of the ships to spend vacation here, or groups heading back to the mainland who forgot to buy souvenirs; sometimes that is when I have my best days in terms of sales. So, have you ever picked okra before? You want to get them before they are this big.” Demonstrating, he held up his index finger by way of comparison. “But you also want them not too small or they are more trouble to prepare than they are worth. If you do not wish to use a knife you can snap off the pod. Needless to say, if you find any that are even bigger than what I mentioned, they still need to come off the plant. We already know that they all look like penises. If you could tell a joke we have not already heard or come up with, I would be astonished.” Phlegmatically, Glorfindel set to work, holding the pods with his gloved hand while deftly using the knife to neatly sever them. After flicking several into his basket, he recalled one more tidbit. “Oh, and make sure you keep looking at the plants in the row as you work. They are so camouflaged by being the same color as the leaves; it really is almost impossible to find every single one.”

“Can it be a contest?” asked Gildor with a twinkle in his eyes.  “Like a truth or dare sort of thing? Whomever gets the most gets to ask the other to do something or answer a question?”  Gildor managed three of the pods while he spoke, but quickly changed his mind on his suggestion. “Forget it. You win. This sucks.  Why do these plants grow so low to the ground? Why is everything not on trees?”

“Uhm, because it is okra? I mean, Erestor said there is this variety that comes out of the interior of Valinor that grows as tall as a tree, but I do not want to need a ladder any more than I want to bend over so much. Otherwise, I am afraid you must ask Yavanna. I think all this was her idea?” Glorfindel rolled his eyes. Gildor really could be rather silly sometimes. “I would offer for you to pick the beans but those grow even lower to the ground.”

“Clearly you need to plant the tall ones next year.  You need no ladder -- I can bring Maedhros back, and you have Fingon, and we can just sit on their shoulders and pick them,” reasoned Gildor.  “Speaking of -- Fingon certainly shot up like a weed since the last time we saw him. Except, not a weed, because he is abso-freaking-lutely gorgeous.  He reminds me of a wolf with those eyes of his. I just want to… get a good grab of that ass,” Gildor said, motioning with one hand while the other clutched another pod of okra.  “Not sure if I want to grab it from behind, or get a good hold on it while I kiss him. Does that bother you that I say these things?” he called out as he pitched another pod into the basket.

Glorfindel rose up to stretch his back, considering that question for a moment. “Do you know, I am having a terrible time answering that?” he reflected. “I mean, on one hand, obviously I love his ass. The moments when I have been able to have my hands on it, or my body buried in it, I am beyond overjoyed at my good fortune. As you have already noted, he is beautiful. Inside and out, and I have cherished his trust and love. But that is just the thing; he is my husband, so another part of me wants to punch you in the nose for even suggesting such a lascivious thing that ignores the sanctity of the bond I have with him. Then again, this is  _ you _ , who are probably incapable of not saying something like that so…” Glorfindel shrugged. “If you were me, what would you do with it? I already kind of punched you a bunch of times this visit already, and we are not even three days into it. Yes, I think I very much want to hear your perspective on the matter.”

“Oh, no, you answered my question,” said Gildor, grinning ear to ear.  He lowered his voice and said, “So you  _ did  _ manage to bed him.  Finally. Someone had to.  I mean, he really needed it. And, why does my hand itch?” Suddenly Gildor began rubbing his hand on his trousers, grinding it into the fabric to try to quell the sudden overwhelming sensation.

“I told you you needed a glove,” Glorfindel said emphatically. “And regarding the other, it was only because Káno asked me to. Invited me. It was Erestor that...Erestor was first. Do you understand what happened to him? You know so many things, and yet your question makes me wonder.” Glorfindel resumed his picking.

The smile dissipated.  “All I meant was… well, no, I do not know ‘what happened to him’.  That sounds really ominous, Fin.”

“If I told you that once there was a gifted young athlete who was raped repeatedly by an adult in a position of authority, and that it made everything associated with intimacy terrifying for that ellon, would it shed any light on your current understanding?” Glorfindel asked quietly.

Gildor let go of the pod he had been working on and sat down in the dirt right where he was.  “No… Fin. Stop. You… you cannot spring something like that on me and just keep working. Come here.”  Gildor reached out a hand and waved it around.

Glorfindel stopped his picking and gazed at Gildor for a long moment before he walked toward the other ellon and seated himself opposite. He took Gildor’s hand, turning it this way and that, examining it. “For a very long time you had my loyalty,” he said quietly. “I thought I you were the one.  I loved you; I still do, but not like I thought I did. But I know I love Fingon. Deeply. If I have this conversation with you, it is with the understanding that nothing about what is said becomes the subject of banter or teasing or a flippant remark. This is very serious to him, and to me as well. I know you are not all flamboyance and flightiness, but I also know that you can cut like a knife. I do not expect you to keep this from your mate, but neither will I tolerate it going any further.” His fingers traced up and down the hand of his former lover. “I need your promise.”

“Fin, this is not the sort of thing anyone should make light of,” Gildor said gravely.  “You have my word that I will never act as if this is some sort of joke or amusement.” He took a deep breath.  “As much as Erestor hurt me -- and I, him -- a part of me does still care about him. How is he handling all of this?  Has it been dredging up memories for him?” He held his breath for the answer.

“What...what do you mean by that question, exactly?” Glorfindel queried. “Erestor has a lot of memories, and only Eru knows how many of them I know nothing about. I have learned of some things that should never happen to anyone, that befell him. I fear there are many, many more.”

Gildor squeezed Glorfindel’s hand and waved off a beetle that nearly landed on him.  “Gondolin. After it fell. Do you know what happened to him when he was taken prisoner there?”

Glorfindel turned his head aside and squeezed his eyes shut. “I fell to my death watching Erestor, trying to save his life from that thing. He never spoke a word to me about what happened after. There were so many things, Gildor, I just could not ask. He would tremble. Or change the subject. And then, there are the nightmares.  Soiling the bed. Waking up crying, and neither Fingon nor I can do a thing for him except hold him while he cries and apologizes. After a time, the only way I could show my love was to stop the questions. He only recently has begun to try and open up, but still he is terrified. I wish...I wish it had been me instead, whatever ‘it’ is.”

“I would not wish what happened to him on anyone,” said Gildor.  He looked around to be sure that they were alone and that Asfaloth had not come looking for more beflowering time with him.  “Rape was not likely, but I suppose I would say he was taken advantage of in some way. When I found him and the others who had been captured with him, he was the pet of an orc captain.  He and all of the others were kept in a house like a cage, naked, except for collars locked around their necks. I remember when I got them all out of there and I sat crouched under a tree cutting that collar off of him.  He could not even make eye contact. The others still had pride and defiance left, but Erestor… I understood the word ‘broken’ when I saw him. And then when they sent him to Angband… I am not sure I can talk about that right now, and I only know fragments of what happened to him there.  This is horrible for me to say, but thankfully he was the only one Oromë sent off to Morgoth. The others all sailed.” Gildor ground his teeth for a moment. “Your brother… he was one of the ones held in Gondolin with Erestor. Salgant’s butler, too, and I forget who the others were. It was horrific, Glorfindel.  That orc was keeping things as trophies -- some live elves, some dead. He skinned those with tattoos and kept the hides. Remember that tiger Duilin had on his back? That orc turned him into some sort of furniture. It was… shit, I am going to have nightmares tonight, I just know it.”

Glorfindel’s lips parted, as he took in Gildor’s words. His chin began to tremble, just before his hand came up to cover his face. “For all of my second life I consoled myself with the knowledge that I had died so that he could live. Survive. Now I feel like it was all a terrible mistake. What did I do?” he asked in an unsteady and shaken voice. “What did the Valar do to him? Why? I knew nothing about any of this,” he cried, instinctively reaching for Gildor.

Gildor pulled Glorfindel to him and cradled him, rocking a little as he spoke.  “Before you bemoan your fate in Gondolin, I remind you that what you did was noble and you saved the lives of hundreds at least.  Everyone was worn from battle and travel, and there were children who could not defend themselves, and you saved them. You saved all of them.”  Gildor took a deep breath. “You will need to ask him what happened and what they said. All I know is that we made it out, and we were told we would all be granted passage west.  Oromë spoke to the only woman of the group alone, and then she took Erestor and they left our camp for a while. When she came back, he was not with her. Then Oromë was gone, and we were all to travel, but I refused to go on without knowing what happened.  When I saw Oromë again, he would say nothing, but Erestor was gone. I refused to sail, and did not know what happened to Erestor until…” Gildor held Glorfindel tighter. “When we liberated Angband. I was there. He was changed; he was so different. I had to pull him back when Morgoth was captured and punished because he kept screaming for them to stop.  It was so silent in that place, Glorfindel, so silent except for his screaming. For thousands of days to follow, we wandered until he fell down in exhaustion, and we would sleep until he woke me with his screaming. Glorfindel, you need to talk to him. You need to get this out of him. Little by little, the screaming subsided, he calmed, he slept through the night, but all he did was bury it.  All that pain is still living within him, and one of these days it is going to all rush out of him and… you were not the only one to save him, Glorfindel,” Gildor whispered. “I saved him twice. Twice. We cannot beat ourselves up for that. I mean… why do we keep doing it? We love that jerk, right?” Gildor squeezed Glorfindel tight. “He never deserved everything that happened, and I just wish I knew how to make it all better, because there is so much good buried within him, too.”

Pale and badly agitated, Glorfindel turned in Gildor’s arms, struggling to sit up again. A tear sped down one cheek. “There were so many times I resented you. Felt...used, by you. Did not know what to think of you.” He took both of Gildor’s hands in his, eyes downcast. “It was never you, it was me.” For a long moment, nothing was said, until Glorfindel could meet Gildor’s gaze again. “I will be forever in your debt for what you told me today. Some part of me still loves you. Just not in the same way I love my husbands.” Releasing one hand, he brushed away a tear. “Sometimes I feel as though all our lives have been threads in a tapestry. I like that you and Maedhros are here and that our threads are once again near to each other, however awful all of this might end up being. I missed you. And, uhm, I really need to talk to Fingon right now. Would I be a complete jackass if I left you to finish this?” he sniffled, in order to gesture at the remaining plants yet to be harvested.

“Leave me to all this?  But I love okra! Okra is my super favorite,” Gildor said as he plucked one from the basket and bit off the end.  It appeared he was going to spit it out to the side, but then he thoughtfully chewed it, examined the pod, and took another bite.  “Maybe not my super favorite, but these are better than they look. Then again, when have I not stuck something shaped like a penis into my mouth?”  He nudged Glorfindel gently. “Bet that was a new one,” he said, before his words turned more serious. “Go on. You need Fingon right now far more than you need me.  I am just going to play farmer to these itchy okra and whatever else looks like it is ripe.” He dropped the okra back into the basket and helped Glorfindel to stand. “You can even tell Erestor I was the one who told you,” Gildor added.  “I survived him being upset at me on other occasions in my life.”

Glorfindel smiled, and placed a chaste kiss on the crown of Gildor’s head before rising to return to the house. Entering as quietly as he knew how, a sense of relief crept over him that Asfaloth was currently absent. Erestor had fallen soundly asleep, his face a picture of peace and beauty. “Oh, Ress,” he voiced almost silently. “Why could you not tell me? I would have died all over again only to help you.” Realizing he was on the verge of breaking down Glorfindel stole upstairs, to sit at the edge of the bed. Some attempt was made to calm his mind with very limited success. Hugging a pillow to himself, he reached out.  _ Káno? Káno please, I have to talk to you. Can you be somewhere private? _

_ ** _

“So as you can see, my side of the office looks pristine.  Everything, completely in order,” pointed out Fingon as he pushed the door closed gently with his foot.  “Because I am such a gentleman, I will let you sit at my desk,” he offered. He and Maedhros had just returned with paper cones of fried fish, shrimp, and wedges of potato from a little shop just across from the school.  “Erestor’s desk, though… I have no idea how he finds anything, and I want to ask Elrond so badly if this is what occurred in Rivendell, but I do not wish to embarrass…” Fingon suddenly looked down to the floor, head cocked to the side.

“Everything alright?” asked Maedhros, who had gladly taken up residence in Fingon’s chair before he could change his mind on the matter.  “Fin?”

“Uh… Glorfindel,” Fingon said, hoping that was explanation enough.  Maedhros, too, looked worried now. “Let me see if I can… just a moment.”  Fingon set his food onto his desk and then settled into Erestor’s chair.  _ Right here, sunshine.  I think. Maybe. Maedhros is with me, but otherwise, yes, private. What happened?  Do we need to come home? _

_ No. Maybe. I do not know. I am sorry, it is hard for me to control my emotions right now. I just spent time with Gildor, talking about Erestor’s past. He told me things. Things that happened to our husband. Things so horrible I…   _ Breaking down into tears again, he tried to control his distress from leaking into his thoughts.  _ I have never tried to…  _ Pressing both hands against the sides of his head, he flopped backward onto the bed and curled into a fetal position.  _ Káno, he was in Angband. For a really long time, and the Valar sent him there. And after Gondolin, he did not escape as I always believed, he was captured...the slave of an orc, and had to stay naked and wear a collar like a dog. He kept all this inside, for all this time and...and I… what do I do? Please tell me what to do…Erestor does not know I know about this. He is asleep. _

The range of emotions covered in the short span of time that Fingon listened was incredible, and ended with him shaking his head in disbelief.  Silently, the word ‘no’ was on his lips several times as he heard Glorfindel speaking to him, and when Maedhros touched Fingon’s arm, his hand was slapped away.  “Sorry,” Fingon immediately apologized.

“Fin, you stopped breathing for a moment.  What happened? What is wrong?” demanded Maedhros.

“We need to go back.  Gildor told Glorfindel… everything about Erestor we spent years trying to figure out, I think,” said Fingon.  Then he looked at Maedhros. “You knew,” he accused. “If Gildor knew, you knew. You knew about Angband. You knew some orc held him captive.  You knew, dammit!”

“Fin.”  Maedhros grabbed hold of Fingon’s wrist before he could pound his fist on the desk.  “Stop. That is not going to help anything. So Glorfindel knows. That was part of the plan, right?  That was why I am here, and why your grandmother has been searching so hard for answers, right?” Once Fingon calmed down, Maedhros eased his hold so that he could grip Fingon’s hand.  “I have that envelope for you. She did not trust sending it through the post. I only know some of what is in it, but to find some of the answers, Gildor had to share some information with me.  He was very hesitant, Fin, but he also really, really wanted you and Glorfindel to have answers. I will gather things here; tell Glorfindel we will come back. I am sure Erestor will want you there, too.”

“Erestor is sleeping,” said Fingon.  “Gildor only spoke to Glorfindel.”

“Oh.”  Maedhros let go of Fingon’s hand.  “You will not get a damned thing done here.  And Glorfindel is--”

“Shit!”  Fingon rubbed his face and fought to find the connection back to Glorfindel again without alerting Erestor.  “Shit, please let me be right about this….”  _ Glorfindel?  Fin? Baby? Are you still there? _

_ I am here. I would not have left you, love. Right now I need you so much...I am so sorry I am not stronger. I feel...I do not even know what I feel, Káno. _

_ My darling, you have no idea how much I need you right now, too.  We are going to hurry back home. I will be there as soon as I can.  Is Gildor there with you? Can he stay with you until we get there? _

_ I needed to let him finish with the vegetables,  _ Glorfindel wavered.  _ He was kind to me, Káno. I just...he is not you. I will stay in the bedroom. I do not want Ress to see me like this. He has no idea. _

_ Alright.  We are leaving right now.  I love you. _

_ Hurry.  _ Glorfindel shuddered, and hugged the pillow tighter against his body. He had no idea, no idea at all how he would talk to Erestor. Only that he must.

“Come on.  We have to go,” Fingon said urgently.  He turned one way and then the other. “Did I bring a cloak?  No… why would I bring that, we took the carriage.”

“Fin.  I have everything.”  Maedhros motioned with his hand.  “After you.”

Fingon rushed around the desk, his hip almost knocking a jar of candy off of the edge.  Maedhros managed to shove it back in time before he followed after. On the way to the main desk, Fingon caught Nasarion by the arm and said to him, “I need to take the afternoon off, and possibly tomorrow.  Please let the rest of the staff know.” The junior librarian gave a nod and headed off on his task, while another young staff member came over with a stack of books. “If you have a question, Inarata, see if Nasarion can help you.  I need to get home.”

“Oh, yes, that is fine,” said Inarata.  She held the stack of books up to him. “These are for Erestor.  He wanted to read them and said he would come for them today, but Nasarion said he was injured.  Should I bring you some food?”

“Oh, no, we will be fine.  We never let Erestor cook anyhow,” admitted Fingon as he tried to take a step around the woman.

“No one should let him cook,” she agreed, which Maedhros could not help but laugh at.  “But you should take care of him, and then you need to be with him, so I can bring you food.”

“We will really be fine,” Fingon said.  “There are six of us right now because we have guests--”

“Oh, good!” said Inarata.  “My mother loves to make food for groups.  She would love to cook for you! I will bring it to you later.”

“I--”

“Thank you so much,” said Maedhros.  He gave a little bow. “We appreciate your kindness.”

“It is no problem.  She loves to cook!” beamed Inarata.

“Please tell your mother thank you from all of us,” continued Maedhros as he took the stack of books.  “You are very kind to bring it.”

“Of course!  No problem!” Inarata moved out of the way.  “Please stay hydrated!” she added as they passed by.

“Why would she say that?” questioned Fingon once they were outside.

“Because you look ill and you were being short with her, and she probably thinks lack of water is the cause.  Very nice girl,” commented Maedhros as he and Fingon, their books, and a satchel with their lunch all made it to the carriage.  “Must be Vanyarin.”

“How could you even tell with the scarf over her hair?” wondered Fingon.

“Because of the scarf over her hair,” Maedhros said matter-of-factly.  He looked over the books as Fingon got the horses moving. “Interesting selections,” he said as he flipped through one of them.  “All of them on Vanyarin culture. Whoops!” Maedhros grabbed for a piece of folded paper slid between pages of the book, and managed to hold onto it before it blew off.  The carriage was moving faster and faster, and Maedhros steadied the books in his lap so that they did not slide off and out of the carriage. “These look like notes he was making from the books,” mused Maedhros.  “Is this some sort of current research he is doing?”

“It seems so, but, possibly more than that?”  Fingon attempted to safely yet quickly drive the horses while answering the question.  “Glorfindel noticed that Erestor had been modifying some things, just small things, that he did, but one of the things Erestor started to do was wear things to cover his hair.  At first, I just thought it was a farming thing, but Glorfindel covertly talked to some of Erestor’s friends at work, including the young lady we just spoke to, and we think he is more than a little interested in the culture.  Of course, Erestor himself is Noldorin, so far as his Elven heritage goes. I would expect him to want to delve into… well, whatever it is we are known for,” mumbled Fingon.

“You mean, the Noldorin stereotypes?” asked Maedhros.  “Bold jewel-toned clothing, lots of jewelry, wearing fur like we might get caught in a snowstorm?”

“Some of us did get caught in a ‘snowstorm’, for about a hundred fucking years,” Fingon said darkly. 

“Beg to differ on your timeline, but point taken.”  Maedhros pulled the books closer. “Erestor is a lot of those things.  In fact, that reminds me, I snagged a few things for him from Celebrimbor’s newest line of finery--a pendant, a really intricate shoulder cuff that catches the light nicely, some earrings… no finger rings, I always joke with my nephew that he should not make those, you know, just in case, and he rolls his eyes at me about it.”

“Right.  I have no idea why he has this fascination with a culture other than his own.”

“So… you think it is wrong for him to read about it?”

“I never said that,” Fingon answered defensively.  “He can dress the part, too, if he wants. I just… I do not get it.”

Maedhros looked Fingon up and down as best he could in the bouncing carriage.  “No one would ever take you as Noldorin by your appearance.”

“I am Vanyarin, too,” Fingon said rather bruskly.  “Just because I am not blond, and do not cover my hair, or wear modest clothing, or… do whatever the fuck the Vanyar do does not mean I am not part Vanyar.”

“Uh-huh.”  Maedhros frowned.  “You realize no one will see you for that, either, right?  In fact, if I had to pick, you remind me only of the Avari.  You paint your eyes, you bead and braid your hair… do you still wear those skirt things?  Because you know that is not a Noldorin thing, and sure as shit is not a Vanyarin thing.”

“I was doing all of that before I ever saw an Avari,” Fingon insisted.  “In fact, how do we know that they did not see me and then just duplicate what I was doing in Valinor the first time around?”

“Huh,” was all Maedhros managed.

“Look, I am not saying Erestor cannot do what he wants,” said Fingon.  “I just… I find it hard to understand. I will still be supportive. Go Team Cottage.  I just wonder, why Vanyarin? Why not learn more about Noldorin? Why not Ainurin?”

“Do the Ainur even have a ‘culture’?  And if they did, would it even pertain to him?  And do you realize you sound a little… what word am I looking for… you seem like a contradictory asshole that he should not have an interest in another culture, when you have… basically appropriated an almost entirely Avarin… lifestyle.”

“I was who I was before I set foot in Middle-earth,” argued Fingon.  “I was not influenced by them.”

“Are you sure?  Who taught you to wear cosmetics like this?” asked Maedhros as he gave a nod at Fingon.

“Aredhel.  You know that,” Fingon answered.

“Where did she get it from?” asked Maedhros.

Fingon chewed his lip.  “I do not know,” he admitted.  

“Well, I do know where the idea for your hair came from, because I did that for you the first time, and I saw it in a painting of the different types of Elves, and the Avarin Elves looked like that, because they spend their time in the woods and wilds, and you just had so much hair to tame,” Maedhros said.  “I see no reason why it is odd that Erestor likes Vanyarin things. As you said yourself, you are part Vanyarin. So is Glorfindel. Maybe he is trying to be more Vanyarin for the two of you.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Fingon said.  “Anyhow, Glorfindel and I have talked about this.  We have a plan so far as this all goes. As for me, this is just me.  This is who I am, and how I have been for a long time.”

“You do realize your identity is not set in stone, right?” asked Maedhros.

“For some of us, it is,” Fingon replied.

“Interesting.”  Maedhros tucked the sheet back into the book and sat back in his seat, wishing he had a second hand to keep better balance as Fingon practically caused the carriage to fly the rest of the way home.

_ ** _

Some time later a soft tap came at the bedroom door, which was slowly opened a little ways by Gildor. “Fin?” he called quietly to the body curled up into a ball on the bed in concern. “Are you alright?”

“Do not know,” Glorfindel answered, not raising his head.

Gildor seated himself behind Glorfindel, laying a hand on his shoulder. His thumb moved back and forth in a soothing motion. “Can you tell me how you feel?”

“Cannot think. Feels like there is a weight on my chest. I try to take deep breaths but it is hard.” Glorfindel sighed. “For a long time I was beaten down, Gildor. I had lost all of my strength. Not in my body, but in here.” He patted his chest over his heart, as another stray tear trickled down. “I have gotten better. Much better. But it still is not how it once was, and this news is a lot. Maybe even too much. But it cannot be too much; I have to help Erestor. I love him.”

Hesitating, Gildor weighed what he was being told. “I can help you, Fin. I can give you something to help a little, or something to help a lot. I am not pressuring you to take anything you do not want. But the offer is there.”

“I do not want to end up with the problem Ress has,” Glorfindel said, wavering. “I do not want to need that stuff to get by.”

“I understand,” Gildor said. “But there is a difference between using something when you have a need, and abusing something just to feel euphoric or to feel nothing at all. I blame my arrogance for contributing to Erestor’s addiction. I wrongly handed that stuff out like candy, not taking into account that not everyone could afford to be exposed to drugs. I am deeply sorry for leading him down that path, Fin. It does not mean that you would use something once and be like him; you are a different person. But I respect your decision.”

Considering this, Glorfindel processed Gildor’s explanation, eventually covering Gildor’s hand with his. “What would helping a little do to me?” he asked carefully, trying to mask the worry in his voice.

“Cause you to feel like it is a little easier to breathe, take an edge off of your sense of feeling overwhelmed.” 

“And what about ‘helping a lot’?”

Gildor smiled, continuing to pet Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Take away all the bad feelings in your body. Take away the feelings of strong emotion. Perhaps make you a little drowsy or with a sense of extreme relaxation.”

A long pause ensued. “If I were willing to try something in between the two that you described, how long would it affect me?” Glorfindel asked, understanding more and more that in his current state, he would immediately trigger awareness in Erestor that something was terribly wrong.

“Maybe four or five hours? It is different from person to person. It is better to try some, see what happens. You can always take a little more later if the effect is not enough to help you.”

Squirming around a little, Glorfindel sat up, conflicting emotions and unhappiness etched into his expression. “I will try, then. I have to do something, Gildor. This is beyond my ability to pretend nothing is wrong. Please help me.”

“Alright, Fin. I promise we will take this slowly; I honor your hesitation. You show wisdom for having it.” Gildor left the room, returning soon with a vial of liquid. Gildor counted aloud as he placed the drops into Glorfindel’s open mouth, and stopped at four before offering him some water. The flavor was bitter and sweet at the same time, but not disgustingly so. “Now we wait. Whatever it is going to do should happen in about fifteen or twenty minutes. Would you allow me to massage your shoulders and neck?”

This decision took less time. Glorfindel moved to lie on his belly, but left his tunic on. Soon Gildor’s strong hands were kneading his tense muscles. Minutes went by, until Glorfindel became aware of the first influence of the drug settling over his mind, imposing a foreign sense of calm. It slowly began to seem easier to breathe. “Does this feel as strange to you as it does to me?” Glorfindel asked, speaking into his bent elbow.

“In what way?” Gildor laughed. “Because of the anxiety you are having, the effect of the compound, or because we are both married to other people, on a bed together and not having a sexual encounter?”

“Uhm, probably more that last one,” Glorfindel snorted. “It brings me happiness, that you found Maedhros. I mean it. You two just go together in a way we never did. I am not sure I ever thanked you for refusing to bond with me--it would have been a disaster in the end. Though there was a lot of shit to wade through, I have never been able to exist without Erestor. Even when I thought I should.  From the moment I first saw him…” Glorfindel sighed. “I need Fingon just as much. He saved me from myself. I hope you have your own version of something so wonderful.”

“I have an amazing life,” said Gildor.  “That is not some exaggeration, either. Maedhros is, yes, a dominant soul, but only so far as having to hold his own against six younger brothers, and keep his place in a very dramatic family.  His spirit is beautiful, and he can be a downright romantic fool at times. The sex is great, too, but we need not get into that. How are you feeling, dear?”

“Something is happening,” Glorfindel admitted, uncertainty tinging his voice. “I just am not sure how much more something is supposed to happen. I feel...this feels peaceful, Gildor. I know about all the things that bother me, but at this exact moment they...I do not feel like...all the misery is erased even though everything is just what it was before.” He tried to sit up again, and Gildor helped him do so. A smile was stifled while he watched his friend blink and look around the room, for he knew perfectly well what sensations fascinated Glorfindel at the moment. “Huh. This is not what I thought it would be. Not like some of the medicines Elrond gave me.” He rubbed his face and eyes with his fingers. “Thank you. I feel as though I might be able to get through this day now. The only thing that seems so strange is, why could I not feel like this on my own?”

“It is what it is.  Our minds are very curious things.”  Gildor rubbed Glorfindel’s upper back as they sat.  “Would you like to stay here, or should we wait for our boys to arrive home outside?  Sunlight can be uplifting, if you are able to come back down.”

“I think I can,” Glorfindel answered in soft tones, wondering how long Erestor had been alone and if he still slept. “If Erestor is awake, do I look like I have been upset? Please be very honest.” He raised his head so that none of his hair was obscuring his face. “It means a lot to me that he not be able to pick up on anything being wrong.”

Gildor gently turned Glorfindel’s face towards him.  “I think we should go outside and I will wash your face if you let me.  That should help. We could also try to make some food so that things appear normal when Erestor wakes up.  Even if no one else is hungry, Maedhros will eat it.” He stroked Glorfindel’s hair. “Asfaloth will probably help.”

Nodding, Glorfindel stood, and swayed a tiny bit in surprise. “Oh. I guess I should move carefully,” he smiled.

“Only at first,” Gildor answered. “You will become accustomed to this quickly. You were not given enough to impair you. At least, that was the goal. Here, hold onto my arm just in case, and we will go outside.”

“Lead on.”

As Gildor and Glorfindel made their way out of the house and into the back yard, the sound of the carriage bring driven almost recklessly up the dirt path that led to the barn was heard.  “Here; let us wait by the water,” suggested Gildor as he walked with Glorfindel closer to the spring. “I am sure they will be over here soon.”

Gildor was correct, for Fingon sprinted out of the barn to the house, and upon seeing the pair at the pool, jogged back over.  He pulled Glorfindel into his arms and held him tightly. “I am sorry,” he said once he separated enough to look directly into Glorfindel’s eyes.  “We will get through this. It is going to get better. Dammit, I am not going to let it get worse, that is for damned sure.”

“I asked Gildor to give me something, Káno,” Glorfindel said, leaning gratefully into his husband’s body. His speech, while not slurred, was more measured than usual. “To help me deal with this. I hope you are not upset. It was completely my decision; he did not pressure me in any way. Otherwise I did not know how I was going to even come out of the bedroom, much less dissemble to Erestor.”

Fingon kissed Glorfindel’s forehead.  “Why would I be upset about this? I have often considered using something for… well, slightly more recreational purposes,” he admitted.  “Can you walk? Do you want to go back to the house?”

“I was going to wash his face,” said Gildor.  “If you are able to do that, I can go and get a cloth for you.”  When Fingon nodded, Gildor patted Glorfindel’s shoulder and made his way back to the house.

Maedhros joined them as Fingon was settling Glorfindel on the grass near the spring.  “Is he alright?” asked Maedhros.

“Gildor can explain to you later,” Fingon said.  “Horses taken care of?”

“Asfaloth is doing that,” said Maedhros.  “He shook his head and made some comments about sprinting not being a thing to do over a long distance and taking your riding crop away from you.”

Gildor returned with two cloths, and Fingon dipped one into the water, only to wring it out and use it to wash Glorfindel’s face, neck, and hands, drying them with the second.  “I take it Erestor is still asleep?” Gildor nodded confirmation of this. Fingon looked back to Glorfindel. “What do you want to do about all this? How are we to proceed? I am still… I am numb.  I do not want to believe any of it, but then, we knew there had to be something pretty bad if he was refusing to speak of it.”

“I wish I had an answer to that,” Glorfindel told him, appreciating the attention he was being given. “That feels so nice,” he added in a murmur. “I would have been able to have these conversations with him thousands of years ago if only I had known how. I wanted to. I have always felt like something of a failure for my inability to reach inside of him and coax that door open.”

“Oh. Huh. That sounds familiar,” mumbled Maedhros with a sideways glance at Fingon.

Fingon glared at his ex as he stroked Glorfindel’s hair.  “I am not sure how to react right now, either. I just want to find Erestor and bundle him up and protect him and tell him nothing will ever hurt him like that again.  On the other hand, I feel like we need to approach this carefully.”

Maedhros smiled and winked at Fingon, while reaching his arm to encircle Gildor’s waist. “We will find a way. I think we all feel some level of determination to help him. For now, I think we should just contain ourselves. It has been my experience that when the time is right, opportunities for these kinds of conversations can manifest unexpectedly. Can we agree to just try to remain calm, and pledge our support to this cause? For I do. I know what it is to suffer at the hands of Morgoth and his minions, and I would do anything in my means to bring him past this. I think I speak for Gildor as well?” A glance down to his mate revealed agreement, as the pair of them looked at Fingon and Glorfindel.

“I can do that,” Glorfindel said. “Káno?”

“I promise to wait until the right moment.”  Fingon licked his lips. “Can we make a straw representation of this bastard orc and whomever else hurt him and put them out in the woods so I can go out there and shoot them full of arrows?”

“Straw assholes, coming up,” said Gildor as he tugged on Maedhros arm.  “Come on. I need an artisan’s touch.”

“Why?  I already know you are just going to draw ridiculous smiley faces on them and make sure they have tiny yet exposed and anatomically accurate penises with targets on them.”  But Maedhros followed Gildor off to complete the task.

Meanwhile, someone was softly knocking on the door.  It was too soft for anyone except Erestor to hear -- even the dog remained on his back, asleep against the wall.  Erestor stirred and looked around. When the knocking was renewed, he hobbled to the door and pulled it open. “Oh!  Inarata! I… had no idea you knew where we lived.” Erestor bit his lip.

“Nasarion told me.  He knows many of these things.  I know you are here and with friends.”  She walked around a brightly painted push cart.  “May I bring it in for you? I have all the foods in here.”

“The foods?”  asked Erestor as he held the door open wider.

“Master Fingon told me you were injured.  You should sit! Sit, sit!” Inarata ushered Erestor back to the couch after she brought the cart into the hallway.  “Do you like soup?” she asked once he was seated.

“I do,” he answered tentatively.  “I do not eat meat, though.”

“I know!  Neither do I!  My mother had such an easy time!”  Inarata disappeared to the hallway again and returned with a giant pot with a lid.  It was white with blue designs painted upon it. “I have rice pudding and hummus and bread, and olives and lemon, and there is a tin of honeyed dates and biscuits for dessert.”  One by one, the pots and tins were brought into the house and arranged on the low table, and the end tables, too, when there was no more room on the larger table.

“Thank you so much, Inarata.  Please, give your mother my thanks, too,” said Erestor sincerely.  

“Of course!  No trouble! My mother loves to cook!”  Inarata came over and fussed with Erestor’s leg.  Only after he was settled on the couch with his leg elevated and in possession of a bowl of steaming vegetable and lentil soup did Inarata appear satisfied.  “Would you like some hummus and bread, too?” she asked.

Erestor shook his head.  “I will have some in a little while, but I want to have this soup while it is still hot.”  He sampled some upon her insistence, and smiled. “Your mother is a very good cook.”

Inarata beamed.  “Thank you! She loves to cook!  Anytime, she will make you soup!”  Inarata maneuvered the cart back outside, and then fetched a glass of water for Erestor before she quietly left.

The smell of the food traveled to the others in short order, and soon everyone else was converging in the room at the same time.  “It appears that Inarata was here,” commented Fingon, and Erestor nodded but did not answer, for his mouth was full of soup.

“Oh! Mae Mae, look at all that!” Gildor beamed, dragging Maedhros to the display of food. “So many nummy things!”

Glorfindel smiled at Gildor and rolled his eyes to Fingon, who leaned in to kiss him. “Mmm hmmm,” he agreed. “But a welcome distraction, no?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed in a whisper. “Look how happy Ress is. I just want to feed him little tidbits.”

“Then that is what you shall do. Go to him,” Fingon nudged Glorfindel, while still marveling at Gildor’s ability to make absolutely anything into a minor spectacle. “And I shall join you.”

  
  



	3. Day Three

The trill of a lone fiddle faded out as the door closed and Glorfindel and Gildor entered the parlor.  Glorfindel had two wrapped packages under his arm and a smile on his face. “That was beautiful; please do not stop on my account,” Glorfindel said as he approached the closer of his lovers and placed a kiss upon Fingon’s head.  Gildor dropped down upon Maedhros’ lap, wrapped his arms around Maedhros neck, and whispered something into his ear that made Maedhros smile and kiss Gildor. 

“What are you doing home so early?” asked Fingon.  “Not that I mind, of course,” he quickly countered.  “I thought the two of you planned to stay out all day.”

“Did you need help bringing your paintings in?” asked Erestor, for Glorfindel had been at the market, and that typically meant assisting him with the crates of unsold items at the end of a long day.

“No, and you need to stay there and keep resting that knee,” Glorfindel said cheerfully as he came to Erestor and kissed him as well.  He held out one of the two packages as Erestor rearranged his instrument and bow so that he could take the gift he was offered “I had a great day today.”

“It was a nice day to be outdoors,” agreed Erestor, who carefully set the bow and fiddle across his lap.  His legs were propped up on some cushions resting on empty crates that had been arranged for him by Fingon.  “Am I to open this now?” he asked as he held up the box.

Glorfindel nodded, still grinning.  “Oh! And I have one for you, too!” Glorfindel returned to Fingon and sat down on his lap before holding out the box.

“Did you sell everything?” guessed Fingon as he took the box.

Glorfindel’s smile widened and he nodded, golden hair bouncing.  “One of those big tour boats docked midday, and it was a frenzy at the marketplace.  You know I try not to use who I am to sell what I do, but one of the visitors figured out who I was, and suddenly I could not keep up with everyone crowded at my booth.  Gildor helped immensely -- he actually managed to get people to buy things for more than I intended to sell them for. I have several orders in as well, and most of them just want to be surprised.  I had enough to order more paint and canvas, and to buy a little something on my way home, and…” Glorfindel pulled a heavy pouch of coins from his pocket and dangled it by the chain in front of Fingon.  “Something to add to our finances.”

“Are you sure you want to add all of that?  You worked so hard on your paintings,” reminded Fingon.  Across the room, Erestor was carefully removing the ribbon and paper from his box.

“Do I get something?” Maedhros playfully asked Gildor.

“Maybe,” Gildor said slyly.  He whispered something else to Maedhros, whose expression was now more solemn, and he nodded.  The pair now focused on watching Erestor.

“Both of you work hard, too,” said Glorfindel to Fingon.  He took Fingon’s hand and dropped the pouch into his palm.  “I would like to be a contributing member of…” Glorfindel leaned back just a little and looked down.

“What?”  Fingon set the pouch aside on the nearby table.  He tapped Glorfindel’s chin with his finger. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” said Glorfindel carefully.  “I am just having a… strange feeling.”

Fingon raised a brow.  “Good strange or bad strange?”

Glorfindel looked back down again.  “You look like Erestor.” Across the room, Erestor lifted his head; he had been very gently shaking his unwrapped box.  

“Of course, he looks like Erestor, darling,” said Gildor.  “You have a type.”

Everyone turned to look at Gildor.

Gildor pushed his blond hair, appearing sun-kissed in places where he had lightly streaked red and orange dye in it a few months earlier, back behind his ears.  “What? Sometimes, I was brunet.”

“You also had purple hair once,” Glorfindel reminded Gildor.

“That was a happy accident I have yet to find a way to reproduce,” Gildor said sadly.  

“I meant his clothing,” said Glorfindel as he turned his head back to look down at Fingon’s attire.  “Erestor used to wear a lot of black. I do not think I have seen you entirely in black before.”

“Oh… this was a coincidence,” admitted Fingon as he looked at his choice of clothing.  “I started with the pants, because they were black and I assumed would go with anything else, and my stockings then ended up being black because it made sense, and the belt matched the pants, and then I took a bath, and I was going to wear a brown shirt, but I could not find it, and then I thought I would wear an olive green one, but I have two that are similar, and I wore the other yesterday and did not want someone to think I just wore the same outfit two days in a row.  By then, it was getting late, so I thought, black goes with everything.”

“Especially black,” piped up Erestor from across the room.

“Exactly.”  Fingon shrugged.  “I felt like a shadow all day.”  The pouch of coins was set aside on the table.  “If that is what you wish, so be it,” he said as he tapped the pouch and reached his hand up to stroke Glorfindel’s cheek.  Across the room, Erestor had his package balanced on one hand, and Fingon smiled and nuzzled at Glorfindel’s hair near his ear.  “Is that was I think it is?” he murmured. 

Glorfindel nodded and replied in a hushed tone, “I hope you do not mind that I picked them up for him.”

“They are so beautiful,” piped up Gildor.  “I helped wrap them,” he added.

Now Erestor lifted his head and stared at his companions, who busied themselves with kisses and gentle caresses.  “That sounds like a conspiracy.”

“Mmm… we are always conspiring to love you the best we can,” answered Fingon as he worked the ribbon off of his own package.  “You can just open it, Eres.”

Momentarily defiant, Erestor snorted before he lifted the lid of the box and pushed aside the disheveled paper to find the treasure within.  Four sets of eyes were upon him as he licked his lips and felt a flutter in his stomach. “Are these… are these what I think they are?” He looked up as he lifted a length of thin fabric, once folded, to examine the intricate patterns woven into it.  One edge was embellished with shimmery fringe. 

“I hope that is the right style,” said Glorfindel, still on Fingon’s lap, with an arm around Fingon’s shoulder.  “I did some reconnaissance at lunch and quizzed that intern about it.”

“While I kept watch every time we passed through the market, trying to figure out which ones you liked the best.”  Fingon set the bow from his box aside and began to work on the paper. “There… should be…” He glanced at Glorfindel for confirmation.

“This is an all-black one in there, at the bottom.”  Glorfindel smiled shyly. “When I was speaking to your intern about a month ago, she mentioned you were gaining an interest in Vanyarin culture, and that you thought the whole idea behind the covering of one’s hair was… I guess the best explanation of how I interpreted it was that it was something you wanted to explore, but thought we would not want you to do so.”

“So if we are wrong, you have some fancy new sashes,” reasoned Fingon.  “And if we are right, you can be assured that we support you.”

“As do we,” added Gildor for himself and Maedhros.  “While my mother does not actively wear them, she does keep a few for special occasions.  Weddings, engagements… I even own some, though, I admit, I wear them more to accessorize… and I am just going to shut my mouth now,” he said as Maedhros pinched his arm.

Erestor bit his lip and looked back at the contents of the box, lowering his hands.

“And,” hurried Glorfindel, “if this was just a thought and you are not yet ready for this, do not think that we are requiring you to use them right now.  Or at all. This is just…” He shrugged. “We just--”

“These are beautiful,” choked out Erestor, and immediately the gift that Fingon had was abandoned as he and Glorfindel moved to Erestor’s side of the room.  By the time they reached him, Erestor had closed his eyes and covered his mouth. 

“Oh, baby…”  Fingon crouched down in front of Erestor while Glorfindel perched on the arm of the chair and rubbed Erestor’s back.  “We just want you to be happy and… to be you. And if this is you, or you think this is you, we want you to feel comfortable to explore that.”

Glorfindel nuzzled the top of Erestor’s head.  “I just want to be able to do this when you come home,” he said.  

“And… I should not be doing that at work anyhow,” Fingon attempted to joke.  It did make Erestor smile a little, and he continued. “If you want us to stop talking, though, just say the word and we will let you have time with this.  Absolutely no pressure. We just… noticed you had taken an interest.”

Erestor’s gaze fell upon the stack of books on Vanyarin culture that he had borrowed from the library, placed close at hand for him while his knee healed.  “Just a bit,” he answered as he stroked the thin brocade. “When I first encountered it, I thought the whole idea was oppressive. It seemed to exude control, but the more I spoke with Inarata, I realized that there is no central controlling force, this is not some cultish thing, and everyone who participates has a choice to do so or not.” He lifted the second item from the package.  The first had been white and gold, and the second was silkier, colored silver, black, and midnight blue. “To me, the concept is now intriguing. In this journey to be a better person, I have come to recognize some of my shortcomings. It was easy to focus on our bond when it was just you and I in Rivendell,” he said as he reached up to touch Glorfindel. “Once amid the company of others, I did not give that most sacred of relationships the reverence it deserved.”

“There was a lot going on,” Glorfindel defended.  “I had my lesser moments as well,” he added.

“I am a little nervous about this,” admitted Erestor as he found the black scarf at the bottom.  “I am finding I deeply concern myself with what others say or think about me. That was not always the case.  I seem to have lost my ability to not give any fucks about it.”

Fingon ran his fingers along the lighter fabric that was draped outside of the box.  He slid his fingers beneath it, and lifted them slightly. “May I?” he offered, and Erestor, trembling ever so slightly, nodded.  Fingon dislodged this garment from the others, and stood up to shake it out. “Does this have a specific side?”

Erestor shook his head.  “They are reversible.” He leaned forward slightly as Fingon draped the scarf down over his head.  “At least, I think they are.”

“Most of them can be worn backwards, sideways, and upside down,” commented Gildor, who held Maedhros’ hand with one of his.  His other hand was in his own pocket, fumbling with something.

“It looks fine to me,” remarked Glorfindel as Fingon brought one end up to create a place for the length of Erestor’s hair to rest before he drew one side around and over Erestor’s shoulder.  “Either this is easier than it looks, or you had practice,” accused Glorfindel as Fingon gave a final adjustment to the cloth now loosely covering most of Erestor’s hair.

“Guilty, as with so many things,” Fingon conceded.  “My grandmother always insisted on certain things if we went certain places, and that meant if we were visiting her family with her, then she insisted that Turgon and I wore these ridiculously long cape things that completely restricted arm movements and that Aredhel keep her hair covered, lest someone have ‘impure thoughts’ about my sister.”  

Maedhros snorted and shook his head.  “I remember those ridiculous outfits. Your father was subject to that nonsense, too,” he informed Gildor.  “I think it was finally when… your father was born,” Maedhros said as he pointed at Glorfindel, “that Indis stopped with all of it, because culturally there were changes, and for a while it became frowned upon.  I think after so many Noldor left, the tradition returned outside of predominantly Vanyarin areas. When I was very young, though, it was quite popular. Some of the scarves were very long, and it was both men and women who wore them.”

“The idea of the scarves, from what I recall, was for modesty.  The capes were supposed to supply the same thing, but those were a deviation for males.  I think my aversion to the idea was based on my grandmother forcing it upon us, as if we were somehow… flaunting ourselves or something.  We were kids. It was the furthest thing from our minds at the time.” Fingon crouched back down again and said, “It was never anyone else who was the concern, it was always the boys -- they should have been worrying about Aredhel’s impure thoughts.”

“There is a story there, and I want to hear it later.  I am going to get a mirror,” offered Glorfindel as he stood up and left the room.

Fingon nodded briefly before he turned his full attention to Erestor.  “How are you feeling?”

Erestor reached down to grip Fingon’s hand, but he was no longer shaking.  “Oddly empowered,” came the answer. “I may not leave it on for long today,” he said.  “They are meant for interactions in public, and… well, we are family here,” he said.

“Of course, sweetheart.  Whatever you want,” Fingon assured him as Glorfindel returned with a mirror and held it out.  Fingon took the mirror and held it up for Erestor. “What do you think?”

Erestor ran a finger back and forth over his bottom lip as he looked at himself.  He tucked a lock of hair that was poking out back under the fabric. “It might be nice to have one or two that are different colors.  Red, or blue… I might take this off for now, but-- maybe I should wait. I mean-- these could not have been cheap.”

“Stop worrying about the cost,” said Glorfindel.  “They would be worth it at twice the price.”

“Glorfindel is right.  We had planned to do this for you even if he had not done so well with his paintings,” Fingon assured Erestor.  

“Besides,” spoke up Gildor, “compared to what I spent at the market today, Glorfindel’s purchases were very reasonable.”

This piqued Maedhros’ curiosity.  “So you did buy me a present,” he said.

“Maybe,” Gildor said again.  He continued to keep hold of Maedhros’ hand as he stood up, only to drop down upon one knee in front of Maedhros.  “I know you said that we do not need to do this, but from the first day we arrived, you have been distracted by their rings,” said Gildor of the jewelry the three lovers across the room wore.  “I am not asking for a ceremony or an announcement or anything of the sort. I just… I want you to have this, whether you wear it or not. You already are my husband, in my mind, even if you prefer that I not call you that.”  From his pocket, Gildor withdrew a piece of cloth with his free hand. He flicked his wrist and the cloth flipped back to reveal a very plain yet beautifully crafted gold band. He now let go of Maedhros’ hand only to cradle it so that he could place the ring in Maedhros’ palm and curl his fingers over it.  “I am not going to ask you, because--”

“Why not?” pressed Maedhros.  

Gildor lifted a brow, and then turned to their audience.  “Um… I was not prepared for this.”

Glorfindel nodded to Fingon and Erestor.  “He practiced this other thing on the way home and--”

“Did I miss it?”  Asfaloth entered the room, where he paused when he saw what was going on.  “You look adorable,” he said as he pointed at Erestor. “And you told me you were going to wait for me,” scolded Asfaloth as he pointed at Gildor.

“I tried!  I got excited.  It just happened.  Besides, what took you so long?”

Asfaloth tapped his fists together.  “Oh… things…” He coughed. “Which of you is the proud owner of the grey dappled mare?”  Maedhros narrowed his eyes at Asfaloth. “What? She is cute. Also, might be twins. I have a good feeling about it.  I was also thinking-- hey!”

“Please.  Continue,” said Fingon once he pulled Asfaloth down to sit on the floor beside him.

Gildor looked back up at Maedhros.  “Sorry.”

“No, no, you are fine,” Maedhros assured him.  “My life has been a series of unfortunate interruptions, so this just feels the way it should be.”  

“I hope I was a welcomed interruption,” Gildor said in his most charming voice.

Maedhros smiled down at him.  “You have been the most welcome of all interruptions.”

Gildor smiled and closed his eyes.  When he opened them again, he said, “I know I am no longer an interruption.  I know we will be together for all time. And yet, I shall ask you anyway, Maedhros… would you--”

“Yes.”

Gildor, grinning even as he narrowed his eyes, swatted Maedhros’ arm with the cloth that was still in his hand.  “You are supposed to wait for the whole sentence,” he scolded.

“I need to find a ring for you,” Maedhros realized.

“I was hoping you would make one for me,” admitted Gildor.

Maedhros nodded.  “I will do this for you,” he promised as he deposited the ring back into Gildor’s hand, lifted it, and kissed it.  “I will return before nightfall.” He stood up and eased his way around Gildor. On his way to the door, he called out, “Come on, Fingon.”

“Oh.”  Fingon looked around.  “Uhm… I guess…”

“I need help finding my way around this island!” Maedhros called out as the door could be heard opening.

Fingon hastily kissed both Erestor and Glorfindel on the cheek.  “Excuse me. Sorry. I will try to get him back as soon as possible -- Russandol!  Mind the dog!” he shouted when he heard the yipping noise that told him the door was still open, Maedhros was not guarding it, and the dog was about to go on his own adventure.

Gildor was the one to rush to the door and scoop up the dog before anyone would need to pursue the canine.  “You are a little rascal,” he commented as he brought the grinning, panting dog back into the sitting room. “Hey, Fingon, what is your dog’s name, anyhow?” he asked Gildor as he dealt with the struggling dog who spied the potential for a new playmate this afternoon.

“Uh…”  Fingon continued by, avoiding eye contact.

“He never named the dog,” whispered Erestor.

“Oh, for pity’s sake…  I bet the cat is nameless, too.”  Gildor sat down, but kept the dog in his lap.  “Fingon! Name your fur children!”

“Later!” shouted Fingon as the door closed.

Glorfindel, who was terribly quiet, was caught staring at the package that Fingon had discarded near his seat.  

“Sweety, I do not think he meant to forget,” remarked Gildor.  “He will remember as soon as--”

The door opened, and the dog struggled to break free again.  Fingon jogged back in, and a moment later, Maedhros behind him.  “Erestor, I am using your horse, but Maedhros needs a horse, and sorry, Gildor, no offense, but--”

“My horse bites; none taken.”  Gildor turned his head to address Asfaloth.  “Hello, friend.”

Asfaloth, who was messily braiding his own hair in a not very fashionable way, looked up and snorted.  “Glorfindel said that only very special people get to ride me.” He batted his eyelashes.

Maedhros crossed his arms over his chest.  “You knocked up my mare.”

Asfaloth licked his lips rather noisily.  “She consented,” he said in his defense.

“What if Fingon rides Asfaloth, and Maedhros rides Erestor’s horse?” suggested Gildor, who now had the dog subdued with belly scratches.

“Perfect.”  Maedhros left the house amid Fingon’s protests.

“What?  No! We-- hey, get back-- no.”  Fingon pouted as he looked where Asfaloth was still sitting on the floor.

“This is so exciting!  I am going to go get my saddle!”  Asfaloth raced out of the house, leaving Fingon to stare down at the floor where Asfaloth had been.

“Sorry,” apologized Gildor.  “I did not realize the two of you did not get along.”

“Eh… it has more to do with… it just gets weird,” Fingon settled upon.  “Is he a person? Is he a horse?”

“He is a horse,” answered the other three occupants of the room.  The dog barked in agreement.

Fingon rubbed his head, and then looked back to where he was sitting.  “Do I open it now, do I wait until later…?” He looked at Glorfindel.

“Now,” suggested Gildor.  “Maedhros is not here to comment about it then.”

Fingon gave Glorfindel a curious look, and Glorfindel blushed slightly.  “I initially thought-- well, just open it. If I keep talking, he might come back in.”

“Now I have to open it before I leave.”  Fingon sat down and took the package again, carefully unwrapping it the rest of the way.  He lifted the lid, and now he was blushing. “These look like a present for all three of us,” he joked as he lifted a glass bottle filled with scented oil.

“I was going to pick up a few other things, but since we have guests…”

“It would not bother me,” announced Gildor.  “I mean, I helped him pick things out. He had some really great ideas -- oh, make sure you tell him about the red bottle, Fin,” advised Gildor.  “You do not want to slap that on your penis, or shove it up your ass. Well… now, actually, maybe you could,” mused Gildor.

Fingon’s blush crept down his neck, and his cheeks colored a deeper red.  “How much did you tell him about what is going on?” he said under his breath in Glorfindel’s direction.

“Oh, honey,” came the reply from Gildor first, “I just know these things.  The eyes never lie.”

Fingon cast his gaze to the floor.  “Alright. Well.”

“Sorry.”  Glorfindel came to sit on the arm of Fingon’s chair.  “The red bottle,” he said quickly, mindful that Fingon had fellow adventurers awaiting him outside.  “It contains a tincture that is supposed to relax the body and the mind, without someone losing their ability to make decisions.  A lot of options cause sleepiness or inability to remain aware, and those seemed a little dangerous. I thought… I thought this might help sometimes.”

Fingon fingered the bottle as he listened to Glorfindel, and kissed his cheek once he finished his explanation.  “Thank you. I will look at these in more detail later, but for now, I think--” Someone approaching the house called his name, and he did not wait to figure out whether it was Maedhros or Asfaloth.  “Here! Hide these! Upstairs.” He dropped the cover onto the box and shoved it into Glorfindel’s hands before he stood up. “Coming!” he shouted as he left the house again.

“Is he that adorably shy in the bedroom? Because I so want to see that,” commented Gildor, who let go of the dog once he heard the door close.  When both Erestor and Glorfindel looked at him with much concern, he said, “What? I have seen all of you naked, and two-thirds of you in varying degrees of ecstacy.  This is not like we are all strangers or something.”

“When did you see Káno naked?” demanded Erestor, and had his knee not bothered him so much, he might have gone to tower over Gildor while asking his question.

“In the baths.  Oh, my goodness, that look!  You are SO protective of him… oh, that would just make it that much better,” said Gildor.

“It is not going to happen,” Glorfindel said quietly.  Erestor relaxed and eased himself back in his chair.

“Alright, but, if it DID happen,” continued Gildor as he took the ring from his pocket where he had placed it for safekeeping and examined it, “where would it happen?”

Glorfindel shook his head repeatedly as he took up residence on the chair that Fingon had vacated.  He was about to offer to make lunch when he heard Erestor say, “Maybe on the roof.”

“Yes!  The roof!”  Gildor slid the ring back into his pocket and gave a single clap of his hands.  “When can we do this?”

“Never,” said Erestor as he closed his eyes.  “But if it happened, the roof would be best because we could have distance.  Then there is no fear of anyone accidentally touching the wrong person.”

“How am I supposed to watch, though?  Oh, come on, Erestor. You are such a tease.  Telling me about the roof and then denying it to me.”  Gildor flipped his hair back and continued to motion with his hands as he spoke.  “You would not have brought it up in the first place if it did not intrigue you, darling.  Come now,” he drawled, “we had a lot of fun times in Rivendell.”

“This is not Rivendell,” Erestor reminded him.  Glorfindel, who was very still and silent, only moved his eyes to follow back and forth who was speaking.

Gildor shrugged.  “Well, of course not.  That makes it better. No diplomatic interruptions.  No halls of people to entertain. No worry of gossip leaking out to all points of the realm.  Just five highly sexually motivated men on a rooftop. With plenty of oil.”

“Four.”

Gildor looked at Glorfindel now.  “Beg your pardon?”

“Four,” repeated Glorfindel.  “Four, plus Fingon.”

“Oh.  Right.  So he is still like that, then,” Gildor sighed.  He scratched the back of his head. “We should have picked up a bigger bottle of that tincture.”

“How do you even know--”

“Maedhros.  He tells me everything.”  Gildor rubbed at his right eye before he continued.  “I bet I know so much about Fingon that neither of you know.  Oh… that got your attention,” he said as both Erestor and Glorfindel sat up a little straighter.  “Mmmhmm. I know a lot of things. Do you know where he is most ticklish?”

Both Erestor and Glorfindel exchanged looks with each other.  Finally, Glorfindel admitted, “I did not believe he was.”

“Believe it,” stated Gildor smugly.  “Bottom of the feet. Between his toes and the middle of the foot.  Try it sometime. You know about the ear trick by now, right?” Two heads nodded simultaneously.  “Right. That is an easy one. But do you know about the knee trick?”

“The what?”  Glorfindel furrowed his brow.  “His knees?”

“No, I said knee, not plural, just one.  The left knee,” Gildor informed them. “Try licking behind his left knee and see what happens.”

\---

“By now they have to know about your ears,” said Maedhros, who had begun the travel conversation almost immediately by asking about sexual positions to see how much Fingon would blush when they were mentioned as a potential indicator of how far his ex-lover had ventured with his forever companions.  Most of the questions were met with snorts or glares, but still Maedhros persisted. “Have either of them figured out the thing with your knee yet?”

“Why are you asking me these things?” Fingon finally shouted as he coaxed Asfaloth to go a little faster.  “I swear, I should just leave you someplace and go home.”

Maedhros chuckled.  “I am resourceful. I can find my way back if I need to.”  He brought Erestor’s horse back to pace with Fingon before he said, “I need to get some sort of emotional output from you.  If I have no chance of getting happy-go-lucky and playful Fin, then I at least want pissed-as-hell and angry Fin over stoic and too damned Elfy Fin.”

“You should really stop calling me Fin.  It is going to get confusing with Glorfindel around,” said Fingon.  “Call me Káno.”

“How can I call you Káno?  My brother is my Káno. You are my Fin.”

“I am not your Fin,” warned Fingon, and he sped ahead again. 

Maedhros sighed.  “True. You are my lovely little asshole right now.”  He followed after Fingon, only slowing when they reached the market and had to dismount to make their way through the tents to reach their destination.  “This is where he was?” he asked as they came closer to the wares of the jeweler.

“That is what they said,” answered Fingon.  “Remember; I was not here.”

“My goodness, someone has something up his ass today.  Or maybe, needs something there,” commented Maedhros in a low voice before receiving a sideways glare from Fingon.  “I hope I can find something appropriate for Gildor here,” he said as he stepped up to the many gleaming specimens of work that the jeweler was capable of.

“How honestly hard can that be?” Fingon asked. “I mean, is anything inappropriate in Gildor’s eyes? You probably could just get a cock ring sized and call it good.”

Before Maedhros could respond, the vendor lifted a brow and cleared his throat.  “If the good sirs wish such a thing, they will want to go two streets up. The third house on the lane with the ivy creeping up the brickwork will be the house.  Ask for Tauriel and she will take care of your needs.”

“I know where she is,” muttered Fingon.  “That is not our true business today.”

Maedhros appeared to wish to say something to Fingon, but instead he looked to the jeweler.  “I wish to purchase a gold wedding band.”

“As if there is some other color wedding band,” came Fingon’s grumbled reply.

Maedhros smiled as the vendor began to select a few items from the table to display.  “Excuse my ‘friend’ and I for a moment,” he said, and he turned around only to half-drag Fingon several feet away.  “Are you going to do this the whole time? If so, just ride the fuck back home. I can follow signs back to the cottage.”

“Fine, I will not speak another word,” Fingon said sourly, declining to disclose that the reason he did not wish to leave largely revolved around not wanting to have to explain his behavior to his spouses. He meaningfully pursed his lips and gestured for Maedhros to return to what he was doing.

When it was evident that Fingon meant what he said, at least for the next few seconds, Maedhros leaned in a little and said, “You have been with me during many important moments in my life.  This is going to be one of the most important. I would appreciate your help.” He sighed and returned to the table.

Fingon blinked, emotionless. Finally a tiny nod was given in reluctant agreement, but no sarcasm was forthcoming.

“Are you looking for something simple, or something with a little more decoration?” A tray of rings was set at the center of the table and had a variety of selections, but most appeared small and delicate.  “What does your lady like?”

“Ah… he likes just about everything,” said Maedhros.  “I think I need to see something in a larger size,” he said, genuinely surveying the items before pushing the tray back.

“What a coincidence!  I had another man here today who--”  And the vendor smiled. “Ah! You must be with each other, I think?  Perhaps?”

“Mmm, perhaps.”  Maedhros nodded when the jeweler held up a tray of larger gold bands.  “What karat gold is this one?” he asked of a ring that had golden leaves winding around it.

“That one, sir, is pure, 24 karats.  A great bargain for you -- only seven hundred and twenty gold for that,” said the vendor.  “Of course, since your betrothed bought the one for you from me, I could negotiate on the cost.”

“I thought pure gold is weaker,” said Maedhros as he looked up.  “Someone told me I should get an 18 karat ring for my future husband.  Is that true?”

“Oh, no, sir, no.  Pure gold is best. Gold is strong, and you naturally want it to be all gold for a wedding band.  Gold is forever!”

Fingon stared at Maedhros, frowning. He might not be a metal artisan, but even he knew that this was a brimming crock of nonsense. However, while his temper was rising, he chose to try to maintain his calm. Mostly. “Bullshit,” Fingon told the man quietly. “How stupid do you think we are, and out of how much gold did you swindle his betrothed?” Fingon placed his clenched fists over each side of the tray of rings, and leaned forward menacingly. Maedhros could go with this where he chose.

“Down, boy,” remarked Maedhros, patting Fingon on the shoulder.  “Sorry about that,” he drawled at the jeweler. “You see, my cousin, he has a temper, and he adores my future husband.  This makes him so mad to think he might have been… tricked. Now… these rings…” Maedhros picked up one of them. “If these are really 24 karat, and I drop it on the ground, it is going to break.  Pure gold is too soft to use for rings, and I think this is, maybe, at best, 10 karat. Cheap. Maybe even just gold plated,” remarked Maedhros as the vendor began to sweat a little.

“I assure you, sir, we only sell the best here.”

“How about a little wager, then?” asked Maedhros.  He held the ring out to the side, above the ground.  “I drop the ring. If it breaks, if it is pure, I will buy it.  If it does not, you can either give me all of the money back that you stole from my future husband, or... the other thing.”

The vendor’s brow furrowed.  “The other thing?”

“Oh, sorry.  The other thing is that my cousin here gets to dislocate both of your shoulders.  He is really strong. Mean, too,” added Maedhros.

Fingon crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the man. He fluidly vaulted over the table using one hand as a pivot, landing precisely at the vendor’s side. In a moment, his arm was around the man’s shoulder in a manner that was anything but benevolent.

Maedhros smiled crookedly. “Oh, and if I forgot to mention, he is rather athletic, too.”  Maedhros held the ring straight out and then looked back and said, “You know, he is already there… if this does not break, do what you like to him, cousin.”

“No, no, wait!”  The vendor dug into a pocket on his apron and pulled a satchel out.  “Here you are! All of it! Please go!” He held out the satchel, hand shaking.

“All of it?  Hmm…” Maedhros looked at Fingon.  “Maybe you should just pull something out of joint to teach him a lesson.”

“Do you have any idea how despicable it is to prey on the good intentions of persons entering into marriage with each other? Selling them crap not worth a fraction of your prices? Well? I want an explanation. Now,” Fingon growled, squeezing the man’s shoulder quite firmly.

“Just take the money!  Just go!” The jeweler was trembling now, and some people from surrounding stalls were beginning to look over.

Maedhros leaned over to grab the satchel from the vendor.  “I would think long and hard about how you represent your goods from now on, because while I will be heading back to the mainland soon, this gentleman here lives here, and you do not want him to have to check in on you, do you?”  The vendor shook his head back and forth. “Good. Cousin?” Maedhros nodded in the direction of their horses.

Releasing him with a noise of utter disgust, Fingon led the way back to their mounts. “What do you wish to do, search for another jeweler? There must be at least one, for Glorfindel did not deal with that asshole when he had our rings made.” He had temporarily forgotten that he was being surly to Maedhros.

“First, you are a beast,” commented Maedhros.  “You know, had I been king for any significant amount of time, you would have been my bodyguard.  I seriously do not know how you even do some of those things. Second, everyone is staring at us. I really did want to come out here and find a place to work, but I do not want to forge anger into a wedding band.  I knew the ring Gildor bought was junk, but I was not about to say that in front of him. I am glad we were able to confront that vendor, but I fear he will not change his ways. I think I just want to go home, explain to Gildor, and try another day.”

Fingon looked whence they came, to see the attention they had indeed attracted. “Probably a good idea,” he acknowledged, an accidental smile crossing his face. “And thank you. I think.” 

Maedhros chuckled.  “You are welcome, I think.”

  
  
  



	4. Day Four

Fingon was sitting on the couch when Glorfindel entered the room.  Everyone else in the household was still asleep, including the dog, curled up right in Glorfindel’s path so that he had to step over the creature.  He came to join Fingon, sitting down beside him. “Good morning,” he said after he collected a kiss.

“Mmmhmm,” was all Fingon offered in return.

Glorfindel kissed Fingon’s brow.  “How are you feeling?” he asked as he wrapped his arms around his lover with a look of concern.  

Fingon slouched down to better nuzzle at Glorfindel.  “Mmm… same height I was yesterday, so that was a relief.”

“I meant--”

“I feel fine,” answered Fingon with a chuckle.  “I may still be slightly under the influence. I came down here to clear my head in the sunlight.”  The windows were open, and outside the breeze made the leaves dance on the trees. A robin flitted around, gathering more grass than should reasonably fit into her beak before flying off, only to return again a few moments later.

Glorfindel massaged one hand along Fingon’s arm.  “I was not sure if--”

“--I would remember everything?”

“Or anything,” Glorfindel admitted.  “I was worried it might even relax your memory too much.”

“I remember most of what happened last night, including you making me get out of bed and walk to the door and recite the alphabet to you,” said Fingon, and Glorfindel laughed at his own concerns the previous evening.  “I know you wanted to make sure I had enough awareness and mobility. I also recall trying to covertly hold onto things so that I could make it there and back, and Erestor calling me out for it.”

“I just wanted to make sure we did not do anything you did not fully want to do last night,” fretted Glorfindel.  “I know that too many times in my past, I have done things for others I did not really want to do, but felt motivated to do because I literally would do anything for them.”

“Same, so, I appreciate what you were doing.  I was very relaxed. Both here,” said Fingon as he motioned to his body, “and here,” he added, pointing to his head.  “But I knew exactly what was going on the entire time. I remember playing with Erestor’s feet with my own feet when you were being oh so serious about the particular oil scents, and I remember being silly at one point and playing the peeking game with the sheet and the sheets smelled like lavender, which was a nice touch, by the way.”

“And you are not upset at all?  Nothing hurts this morning -- no regrets about any of it?”

“Umm... I regret this strange aftertaste I have this morning. That was an unpleasant thing to wake up to,” said Fingon.

Glorfindel immediately apologized.  “I am so sorry. I enjoy it; Erestor, well, sometimes, I think… but that is why he spits out most of the time, or, he just disengages before it happens.  It is also possible to get it in deep so that most of it bypasses the tongue, but--”

“Fin.  Calm down,” said Fingon.  “This is some… acidic sort of taste.  I think it comes either from the tincture or the edible oils we were using.”

“I doubt it was the oil,” Glorfindel said.  “Erestor and I have used those before, and that has never occurred.”

“Good to know.  Nothing that we did was upsetting or painful, though.  I am quite happy that we tried. I found that while the purpose was to relax my body, and clearly my jaw, it also helped my mind.  I was not at all unaware, but I was extremely focused. Last night, there was just you and Erestor. No thoughts about the library, no Maedhros, no fucking gymnastics… no fucking Maedhros.”  Fingon snickered. “No worries about any of the suggestive things Gildor says. Just the three of us. It did occur to me at one point that I completely forgot the safe word. I knew there was one, but in my head I had this little song -- that was probably why Eres was laughing at me, I think -- that would pop up now and then.”

“What song?” asked Glorfindel.

“One of my own making,” said Fingon, and he began to sing.  “Safe word, safe word, yes, we have a safe word. Safe word, safe word, what the fuck is it?  Yes it is for fucking, the safe word is for fucking, safe word, safe word, what the fuck is it?”

“Oh, no… you could not remember?” worried Glorfindel.

“Not then.”

Glorfindel looked panicked now as he tightened his hold on Fingon.  “Did you need it?”

“No.  I would have just started singing that song if I did.”

“And now?”

Fingon shrugged.  “I do not need it now.”

“No -- do you remember it now?” asked Glorfindel

“Yes.”  Fingon laughed when Glorfindel leaned forward to scrutinize him until Fingon added, “Unicorn.  We should just get a statue of one and put it in the room just in case for next time.”

“Next time?”  Glorfindel settled back and kissed Fingon’s cheek.  “So you would consider doing this again?”

“Maybe I would, but I think I need time in between.  I do not want to take the chance that I could become dependant on the relaxant, and my jaw, while it does not hurt, is sore.  Even this morning, I can tell I am a little fuzzy--” He stuck out his tongue at Glorfindel when his companion rubbed at the stubble on his cheeks.  “--about what I want to accomplish today, so it has to be more of a special occasion sort of thing.”

“What about Erestor?” asked Glorfindel.

“Erestor is not in need of this.  Erestor fucks like a champ.”

Glorfindel snorted.  “I meant--”

“I know.  Erestor. He had such a wistful look the moment your cock was in my mouth.”  Fingon sighed. “Quite honestly, his penis scares the hell out of me, no matter where it is trying to go.  At least through the back door, I know it just keeps going. I have been accused of having a big mouth, but as we have discovered last night I also have an amazing gag reflex.  You have a really nice penis. Probably my favorite one, and you know what a compliment that is coming from me.”

“In my younger days, I never would have guessed I would have found a partner who enjoyed my lack of length,” said Glorfindel.

“Just enough to be a proper penis, and not enough that you will send me running in terror.  Erestor has extra penis.”

“Extra pe--oh.  Because he was not circumsized,” Glorfindel realized

“That, and he is really, really long.  What do you even do with all the excess?  Where does it go?” wondered Fingon.

Almost immediately, Glorfindel was in instructor mode.  “Well, what happens is the foreskin stretches when--”

And Fingon immediately covered his ears.  “That was rhetorical. I do not want to know!”

“Sorry.  Out of the question with Erestor, then.”

Fingon uncovered his ears.  “Perhaps not out of the question, but a long time off.”  He stuck his tongue out of his mouth and waggled it around.  “I rinsed my mouth with brandy and I still have that disgusting taste in it.”

“Maybe it needs to be flushed out of your system,” suggested Glorfindel.  “It might be like when Erestor eats too much garlic.”

“This is not quite that bad,” said Fingon.  “At least I am not blasting the house full of fumes,” he laughed.  “I still really want to find a way to have you make that cheese bread when we are at a family reunion.  There are so many people who deserve to partake in that odor.”

“I can only imagine the length of that list,” said Glorfindel with a smile.  “Can I make you breakfast?”

“Can you?  You better, after last night.”  Fingon gave Glorfindel a wink. “All kidding aside, I am glad we tried that last night.  I feel like I should write a thank you note to Gildor. Dear Gildor, Thank you for the drugs.  Also, thank you so much for ending your relationship with Glorfindel. You were an idiot to do it, but your loss is my gain in so many ways.  Lots of love, you know who this is. And then, lots of hearts at the bottom and a PS of something like ‘we fucked all night long and you missed it’ or something like that which would irritate him just enough but not enough to actually piss him off.  Oh… and I would have to make it clear that I sucked you off while Erestor topped me because then he will show it to Maedhros, and again, just enough to twist the knife a little, not enough for torches and pitchforks. I wonder if I can write that up and slip it under their door before they wake,” he wondered.

“This is why I am glad you and I are friends.  While it is on my mind, though… you and Erestor are very different, ahm… in the moment, shall we say?” offered Glorfindel.

Fingon smirked.  “If by that you mean that Erestor can wake an entire household not in the house where sex is actually occuring, and I hardly make a peep except right at the end, yes. I already knew that.” 

“It was difficult for me to know if you were enjoying it, which is why I kept asking,” explained Glorfindel.

“Ahh.  Yes, I suppose I tend to talk my way through when I am taking the lead, and otherwise… I guess that was a learned behavior.  Most of what Maedhros and I did was right in Feanor’s house when other people were there, often sleeping, and we did not want to get caught.  I can try to do better in the future.”

Glorfindel lifted his chin slightly.  “That was not my way of suggesting you change.  It was only an observation.”

Fingon nodded. “And you are right in the middle,” he recognized.

“I suppose I am,” Glorfindel said.

They were quiet for a minute until Fingon spoke.  “I would like toast and fresh fruit and cashew butter.”

“Do you want the butter on the toast?” asked Glorfindel

Fingon shook his head.  “I want the cashew butter in a bowl with a spoon.”

“Just checking.”  Glorfindel walked over to claim a kiss before he continued out to the kitchen to fix the requested breakfast.  It only took a few minutes to return with a tray that he set on the table nearest to Fingon. “Can I get anything else for you?” he asked.  “If not, I shall excuse myself. I think I could use a few more hours of sleep.”

“No, this is perfect.  Thank you. Sleep well.”  Fingon reached out with his arms, and Glorfindel stepped into the embrace.  They kissed again, and then Glorfindel went back upstairs, leaving Fingon to stare at the tray with the food on it.

A few minutes passed, and Fingon stared out the window at the happenings in the yard.  When he looked back at the food in front of him, he bowed his head, covered his face with his hand, and cried silently.  It was only when the dog bounced over and yipped at him that Fingon wiped his face. “Shh. Hush, you! Here,” he said, and he tossed the toast onto the floor for the dog, who gobbled it up.  

Fingon picked up the tray and carried the rest back to the kitchen.  The fruit was placed back from whence it came, and the cashew butter was carefully added back into the jar.  The plates and utensils were washed and set aside to dry. Fingon leaned on the counter and sighed heavily. His eyes fell upon the soap used to clean the pots and pans, and he took a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water, and added a little soap.  This he swirled with a spoon, then tipped his head back as he drew a large portion into his mouth. He nearly choked as he gargled, and spit it into the sink. Fingon used plain water to rinse again. While the soap was not pleasing, it did seem to overpower the aftertaste of the tincture, and it eased his mind about what he had partaken in the night before.

Now that he recalled in detail what had transpired, from his initial suggestion that the only way to test the substance Gildor provided was with a true test to the moment he felt the thick appendage press along his tongue and toward his throat… 

Fingon looked down into the wash basin where he had just vomited.  He spat, and threw up again. More water was needed to rinse the bile from his mouth, but purging helped him feel a little better.  He set to cleaning up all evidence, and left the kitchen in a far better state than it had been. 

He now had a headache, and considered his choices.  Everyone else was asleep, and that was well enough because he did not want to hold a conversation with anyone just yet.  He could go for a ride, he realized. Asfaloth was in a room inside of the house from what he could tell, and even if he was in the stable, Fingon would not need much time to ready a different horse and avoid questions.

As luck would have it, Asfaloth was not in the stable.  Fingon chose only to drape a blanket over the back of Erestor’s old stallion Pepper, a horse no longer meant to be raced despite his abilities in his younger days, and led the horse out onto the lawn.  “Just a little walk through the fields,” Fingon suggested with a nod of his head. Beyond the front yard that was part of the property were some overgrown fields of clover and wildflowers. No one seemed to know who they belonged to or if they did belong to anyone.  At first, the inhabitants of the cottage stayed away, but when it seemed evident they were abandoned, they sometimes took the horses there to graze, or went riding there for pleasure.

He rode now, a slow and thoughtful journey, all the way until they reached a stream that Fingon knew was there.  He dismounted to wash his face and give Pepper a chance to drink. When he turned, he saw the cottage as a small brown rectangle on the horizon against the blue sky.  Part of him wanted to get back onto Pepper and keep riding until he could no longer see the cottage. “Why am I like this?” he muttered. Pepper, sensing something to be wrong, nudged his head against Fingon’s shoulder.  “You are probably hungry and tired,” he said to the horse. “We should go back.” Pepper snorted softly as Fingon vaulted onto his back, and the pair returned the way they came.

Fingon found that Asfaloth was in the stable when he returned with Pepper, and was only too happy to tend to the old stallion’s needs as Fingon went back to the house.  The scent of hot food greeted him at the door, including coffee, which seemed ideal for the pounding in his head, which had not lessened from his ride. Fingon poured himself a cup of coffee and glanced around the kitchen.  Only Gildor was there at the moment, and that was precisely what he had hoped for. “Is Maedhros still asleep?” he asked.

“And will be for at least another hour or two.”  Gildor was using Erestor’s playing cards to build an intricate card castle, complete with four towers.  “I assume Peaches and Cream are still up there?”

Fingon pulled out a chair as he lifted a brow slightly -- but not too much, he was still waking up.  “How long did it take you to come up with that?”

“The better question is how long did I wait to use it.”  Gildor very carefully started on the fourth story of his castle.  “Not sure what that makes you. Maybe the shortcake… but that would infer you were the one on the bottom.”  Gildor looked over his carefully placed cards in an attempt to read something from Fingon. When the expression did not change, he pressed on a bit.  “Yes? No? Only on the weekends?”

Fingon gathered up his braids to pull them back behind his head.  The coffee was still black, and steaming, but he took a tiny sip anyhow.  “I will answer your question if you answer a few questions for me.”

“Oh.”  Gildor set the small stack of unused cards in a pile to the side of his creation.  “At your service.”

Fingon pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes a bit as he looked off to the side.  When he looked back at Gildor, he said, “You seem to be one who knows his way around an apothecary.”

“Elrond and I were good friends,” Gildor said.  “He taught me many things, and I learned other things from Glorfindel, and there was even some information on the growing of plants that I picked up from Erestor.  I read a lot of books… I have an interest in a great many things.” Gildor stroked the top card of the deck as he studied Fingon. “Is this about the substance I helped Glorfindel find for you, or, something else?”

“Something else, but related,” Fingon said.  “I want to know if there is anything that would lead to even greater relaxation.”

“Mmmm… before I say yes,” said Gildor, “I will ask why, and even if you choose not to answer, I will still tell you.”

“I suppose you already have,” said Fingon.  He took another sip of coffee before he continued.  “I want to use it… behind closed doors.”

Gildor tapped the cards.  “For yourself, or someone else?”

“Myself.”

“Why?”

Fingon looked away uneasily.  “The answer to your question. None of the above; just on… very rare occasions.”

“I see.  And you think something in a magic bottle is going to help that somehow?”  Gildor’s words sounded flippant, but the way he said it was quite serious. His tone had changed from when Fingon first entered the room, and he flipped the first card, an eight of spades, over and over as he spoke and listened.

An uncertain look morphed into a contemplative one as Fingon rubbed his chin.  “I feel…” He dropped his voice and leaned forward enough to whisper, being mindful of the cards so that he did not blow them over.  “I feel as if I am leading them on sometimes. A situation becomes intimate, I initially act as if we are going to have… mind-blowing, pounding into each other sex, and then suddenly I hear myself saying ‘no, we need to slow down a little’ and…”

“And somehow you are equating having a relationship with another man -- or, men, as this case may be -- as requiring the use of someone’s cock as a battering ram?”

Fingon’s cheeks colored considerably in a short span of time.  “I mean… the two of them do it. I assume you and Maedhros do it.”

“Damn right we do.”  Gildor slid the extra cards out of the way and folded his hands.  “Darling, I have more questions for you, if you would be so good as to indulge me.”

Fingon swallowed hard and nodded.

“Have you ever heard of a technique called ‘fisting’?”

Fingon’s eyes narrowed a little, and it was obvious he was thinking quite hard on the matter.

“Be honest.  I am not going to think less of you.”

“Should I know what that is?” Fingon finally asked.

Gildor licked his lips, which were curled into a slight smile.  “Well, darling, it is the thing that happens when one partner introduces their fist into the other person’s--”

“Oh, sweet Eru, no.”

“Oh, sweet Eru, yes,” drawled Gildor.

All color drained from Fingon’s face.  “How-- no. I--” He squeezed his eyes shut.  “Why?”

“Because some of us really, really--”

Immediately, Fingon covered his mouth, eyes wide.  “Oh my… Oh.” And then it seemed to hit him as to whom he was speaking to, and who the second party would be, and his eyes widened a little more.  

“So whatever you might think about what you are ‘required’ to do in order to… participate as a gay man… whatever you are doing must be working, because you have those two upstairs wrapped around your little finger.  Also, close your eyes or blink or something -- that cannot be healthy.”

Fingon rubbed his face.  “Sweet Eru, how do you even walk after that?”

“Kind of like a duck,” Gildor said without pause.  “Now, darling, if you really want something to relax you more than what you have in that little red bottle, I can get it for you.  Some of it I can even make for you. Before you ask me to, stop and ask yourself, is that what you really want?” Gildor waited a moment, and then he lowered his voice and said, “Were you actually looking forward to sucking off Glorfindel last night?”

Fingon looked up in bewilderment.  “How did -- did he tell you?” he asked, horrified.

Gildor shook his head.  “Honey, the walls are not that thick.  We can hear everything going on in your bedroom from the room we are in up there.”

Fingon groaned and smacked his palm to his forehead, elbow on the table.

“Maedhros and I have been… uh, canoodling in the woods behind the shed so that you three did not hear us,” Gildor admitted.  “Every time we tell you we are going to sightsee… well, we are sightseeing, but just each other in the woods.” Gildor picked up the remainder of the deck.  “You know what is going to happen if you keep on trying to be something or someone you are not?” Gildor dropped the pile on top of his castle, and it immediately dispersed across the table, shooting cards off the side and onto the floor.  “Exhibit A: Erestor. Even now there are times I am not sure what facet is him and what is something in his head that he convinced himself he is or likes.”

Fingon looked at the ruined work, of which only one tower was still standing.  As if reading his mind, Gildor flicked it with his finger to send it cascading down.  Fingon’s shoulders slumped. “I just want to be normal.”   
  
“Uhgh… my heart just breaks every time I hear someone say that.  Then I fume when it is someone like us.” Gildor came around to the other side of the table.  He put an arm around Fingon and said, “I am going to give you some advice my father gave me. When I was little, as most children, I wanted to grow up and be what my father was.  Now, consider this -- can you really imagine me, now, as a librarian?”

Fingon pressed his lips together but said nothing as he wiped away a few straying tears.

“Uh huh.  So I went along with him sometimes and I would get ahold of stampers and stamp things in books that I am sure were incorrect and I would try to help put things away, but I did it by size and color so I am sure I made the lives of the assistants interesting.  I even went so far as to apprentice at another library for a brief period of time. A very brief period of time, during which I was dismissed because my penmanship is atrocious and they spent more time shushing me than anyone else. I was so upset. I came home and I threw myself on my bed and I huffed and I shoved all the books from my shelves onto the floor and I had a good, long tantrum.  There was stomping. I was in excellent tantrum throwing form. And when my father came to see what was going on, and I told him, and I said that I just wanted to be normal, he sat down and told me what I am going to tell you. All you can do is get up every day and be the best you that you were meant to be.”

Fingon wiped the back of his hand over his eyes, chin trembling.  “Thank you.”

“Anytime.  Do you still want me to procure something stronger for you?”

Fingon stared down at his coffee and then shook his head.  Another tear fell and rippled the liquid in his cup. 

“Good answer,” complimented Gildor.  “Look at this mess I made.” He gave Fingon a pat on the back and then slid off his chair to gather the cards from the floor.

“What is even in that stuff in the red bottle?” asked Fingon.  “It has a weird aftertaste to it.”

“Oh… honey… that is not supposed to be taken orally,” Gildor bit his lip.  “How much did you drink?”

“Well, shit…”

“Hopefully not the whole-- well, hello.”  Gildor, who was under the table, had inadvertently looked up.  “What is going on under here?”   
  


“Under-- oh!”  Fingon abandoned his coffee and crouched down under the table, happy for a change in topic, however slight.  “So those are, we think, the names of the people who have… used the table as a--”

“Hey, I know these people,” Gildor said with a wink after he pointed to a space where the inhabitants of the house had carved their names into one of the blank spaces under the table.  “So, what would it take to let Maedhros and I try out this finely crafted sex table,” Gildor said as he patted the nearest table leg.

“Uhm....”

“I promise no fisting,” added Gildor.

Fingon cringed.  “I had nearly forgotten that part of our conversation.”

A crashing noise and a pause was heard from the top of the stairs, followed by “Ow, fuck!” and a series of bouncing noises. Followed by clattering. Glorfindel appeared shortly thereafter in the kitchen, his hair charmingly disheveled. “Good morning,” he said to them. “I think. Mostly. Did I miss anything?”

Gildor emerged from under the table with a handful of cards.  “Fatherly advice, fisting, and fuck tables, but not necessarily in that order.  Also, good morning, I made coffee.”

Glorfindel’s mouth opened and hung slack as he tried to process what had just been said. He looked from Fingon, to Gildor, and back to Fingon before clearing his throat. “It is much too early for fisting. In fact, I am not sure it is ever time for fisting. There are limits, you know. Nothing personal, should anyone else in this room actually enjoy that activity. Coffee. Yes. Coffee sounds very good. RESS? COFFEE?” he bellowed out the kitchen entryway.

A hideous crash from upstairs shook the walls. 

“I think we both want coffee,” Glorfindel mentioned, nonplussed and making his way toward two more cups.

While Fingon relocated from the floor back to a chair, Gildor gathered up all of the cards and continued the conversation Glorfindel obviously meant to finish.  “I rather prefer fisting in the morning. A nice, loose rectum coupled with a morning hard-on is really the best way to go, and then afterwards, a hot bath -- because there is no way that activity comes without a mess. Plus, it gives just enough time for recovery the same day in case someone takes a fancy for an evening go at it.”

Openly, Glorfindel stared at Gildor, stepping behind Fingon to place a hand on his shoulder, once he found his seat again. “Is this where I tell you I am eternally grateful that you did not discover this aspect of intimacy until well after our relationship ended?” he near-whispered.

“What aspect?” Erestor wanted to know, groggily entering the room, and limping somewhat. Clearly, he was favoring his injured knee--that had almost fully healed.   
  
“Fisting,” Glorfindel answered. “I was just telling Gildor that I am glad I missed out on this particular, uh, delight, in our time together.”

“Oh,” Erestor said, rubbing his eyes. “Um. Nothing personal, Gildor, but I am afraid I am with Fin on this one. Perhaps that makes me defective in the homosexual department but...no can do.”

“Why does everyone think this is a homosexual thing?” Gildor said a little louder than intended.  “This is a… an… adventure thing,” he settled on. “In fact, it is probably easier to go in the other way with a woman,” he said rather matter-of-factly.

All three other occupants of the room stared at Gildor with varying degrees of terror on their faces.  Fingon cleared his throat and said, “I am no expert on the topic, but having had the experience of making love to a woman, it is not like there is just a gaping hole to stick a fist into.”

Meanwhile, Maedhros, who had not made so much noise in reaching the kitchen, was now in the doorway.  He took one look around, frowned at the single comment he managed to catch, and pointed a finger at Gildor.  “Whatever is going on, I blame you,” he declared before he went to investigate the coffee.

“Well now wait a moment,” Erestor frowned. “While I have not ever, uh, completed the act with an elleth, I feel I have at least had considerable, ah...er…”

“Had your fingers in the honey pot?” offered Gildor.  Fingon shuddered, and without comment, shoved the jar of honey that was on the table far away.

“Exploratory opportunities?” Glorfindel offered, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes at Gildor. “I was aiming for something more euphemistic, thank you very much.”

“I am not going to apologize for enjoying my time with Artanis,” Erestor mildly fumed. “She was and I am certain still is very beautiful. The point I am trying to make-- if I am ever allowed to get that far--is, unless the lady has just birthed an elfling, there is every reason to believe that any fist inserted into that place will not come back attached to one’s arm, if that were attempted without consent. In fact I would hazard that it would fucking well hurt like a...a…”

“I saw my mother give birth to my brothers,” Maedhros explained calmly. “She would have torn anyone’s head off who tried.”

“It is incredible how far it stretches, though,” said Gildor.  “I had to have knowledge of basic healing and midwifery, because we just never knew what was going to happen out on the road with so many people.  Cows are interesting, though. I mean, you look at the calf, you look at the cow, you think, how can that possibly work? Hmm… would it be fisting for cows, or hooving?” he wondered.

Maedhros groaned and shook his head.  “I apologize for him,” he said as he poured coffee for himself.

Fingon was now staring at the top of the table.  “I have never seen anyone give birth and I think I probably do not want to,” he said quietly.  “The closest I ever got was waking up and finding kittens in the drawer of a dresser.”

Glorfindel and Erestor now sensed more of Fingon’s discomfort, once past their original consternation at the subject matter. Immediately Glorfindel went to his side and knelt, embracing him. “Do we need to stop talking about this? Please be honest. I can see you are not happy.” 

Erestor did the same, except he placed his arm over Fingon’s shoulders. “I am sorry, love. I was not thinking on account of falling to the floor trying to get out of bed and--that does not matter. I do not need to hear the answer,” he said more to the occupants of the room than to Fingon. “We need to change the subject.”

“Can we talk about having sex on the table?” asked Gildor.

“Inglorion.  Really?” Maedhros set the mug slightly harder than intended onto the table.  “How do you come up with these things?”

“They did it first,” Gildor defended.  “You can check under the table. The evidence is there!”

“We patently did  _ not _ do it first,” Erestor argued, pressing Fingon’s head against his side. “If you would read, you would see that we could not possibly have been the ones to inaugurate that table, nor even take it on the ensuing voyages. Honestly, Gildor. And either way this topic is banned until later. We all love Fingon and we need to show it. That means, meeting his needs. Right how, what he needs is for us to shut up and find something else to discuss. Gardens. Library books. Dogs. Horses. I do not care what, as long as it has nothing to do with sex or reproduction.”

“Sorry… I just meant…”  Gildor sighed when Glorfindel and Maedhros both glared at him.

Fingon, however, was staring at the wall and speaking to everyone and no one.  “Gardens are where things grow, and I can come up with at least a half dozen things that link gardens and sex, and that is not including the tools and the puns about those.  Some library books are about sex -- more than you would think. You would think I would have thought to read some of them by now.” He sighed. “Sex is just everywhere. Dogs have sex.  Horses have sex.”

“Yes, we do!” Asfaloth said with glee as he strolled into the house.  He held up two fingers as he weaved between the Elves, retrieved the sugar bowl, and plopped down at the table.  “So, what did I miss?” he asked as he popped a cube of sugar into his mouth.

Glorfindel rose without a word and moved behind his horse. Taking a spoon, he carefully shoveled some more cubes into Asfaloth’s mouth then gently, but quite firmly, placed his hand over said mouth.

Erestor’s eyes gleamed with approval. “Káno, love? Would you share what you are thinking? Because I can see that you are using this to feel as though you are somehow lesser than everyone else here and I will not allow you to do that. Not when you are the greatest of all of us.” His voice shook with sincerity, and his eyes pleaded with his lover not to keep his notions to himself.

“Maybe later,” he mumbled. 

“Hey, Asfaloth?”  It was Maedhros attempting to get the horse’s attention, and when he had it, he said, “How would you like to to race against Gildor’s horse?”

Asfaloth grabbed hold of Glorfindel’s arm with both of his hands so that he could pull Glorfindel’s hand away from his mouth.  “Why bother? I already know I will win.”

Maedhros stared unblinkingly at Asfaloth.

“Oh…”  Asfaloth pounded his fists together at the knuckles.  “I mean, sure, we can do that.”

“Now,” Maedhros directed, and he went to Gildor to steer him out of the house as well.

“Right now?”  Asfaloth shrugged and pilfered the sugar bowl from the table on his way out.

Erestor allowed a few moments before speaking again. “Please?” Uncertain how anyone could deny Erestor anything given the look on his face, Glorfindel waited to hear what Fingon might say. There were times when others needed to be prodded to speak, lest the moment slip away. This felt very much like one of those occasions.

The remainder in the coffee mug was shoved to the center of the table, and Fingon managed to slide away as he stood up.  “I am not feeling well. Excuse me,” he mumbled, and he was gone from the room before anyone could answer.

Glorfindel closed his eyes and rubbed his head.  “Dammit.”

Erestor placed his hands on the top of the table and closed his eyes.  “Sometimes I feel like we take one step forward and stumble three steps back.”  He opened his eyes when he did not get a response. “I should have cut them off sooner.  I am not sure which is worse at running their mouth, Gildor or Asfaloth.”

Glorfindel opened his eyes and very carefully crafted his next words.  “He is not so different from you, you know.”

Erestor blinked.  “What are you talking about?”

“Why do you want him to tell you what is bothering him?”

“So I can help him,” Erestor swiftly answered.  “If I do not know how he feels and what happened, how can I possibly--”

“Go on,” coaxed Glorfindel.

“I am pressuring him, because I want to help him, and he wants to help me, but he gives me so much space, I manage to evade discussions more often than not.”  Erestor rubbed his head. “Fin, help me make this right.”

“All you have to do is talk with him, Ress.  Not at him; not like a pupil. Like a lover. I know you can do that,” Glorfindel said softly.  “I think you know deep down that even though it will hurt to discuss some things, it is the only way to heal.  You have experiences that are like slivers deep under the skin, and they will keep stinging you no matter how long you try to ignore them, until you yank them out.”

Erestor chewed at his thumbnail.  “I get such anxiety when my thoughts even hint to… those things.  I have a hard time admitting them to myself.”

“Ress.”  Glorfindel moved closer and placed his hand over Erestor’s heart.  “He is with you, Ress. Together, we are one. If we cannot share the hurt and pain, how will we fully appreciate the joy?”

For a long while, Erestor prolonged the answer while Glorfindel patiently stood before him.  Finally, Erestor bowed his head and nodded. “I will try to speak with him.” He continued to hesitate before he asked, “Will you come with me?”

Kneeling before him, Glorfindel took both of Erestor’s hands in his own, kissing each of them. “Of course I will. Anything for you, Ress. Especially this.”

They found Fingon in the bedroom, blankets drawn up to his ears, back to the door.  When Glorfindel closed the door, Fingon did turn to look over his shoulder before he nestled back into his position.  His clothing was in a pile on the chair nearest to the door, and Glorfindel and Erestor followed suit before carefully crawling into bed, Erestor in the middle, and Glorfindel staying on the far end to be supportive but offer space.  Erestor set a hand upon Fingon’s shoulder, and Fingon turned his head again. This time he did not immediately turn away, and Erestor could see that Fingon had been crying. “I am so sorry. That was not fair to you, what I said downstairs.  I want you to feel safe and loved, and I fucked up.”

Fingon rolled onto his side so he could face Erestor.  He bowed his head slightly, and then butted it against Erestor’s shoulder.  He edged closer and nuzzled Erestor’s chest. “You are an idiot sometimes, but I still love you,” he mumbled.

Erestor trembled, but reached to place his hand on Fingon’s arm. “I am worse than an idiot,” he answered, anxiety already beginning to consume him. “I am a hypocrite. I had the nerve to ask--no, almost demand--that you open up to me when time and again I still fail to do that very thing for you. I want to do better. I have to do better.” Tears already pooled in his eyes, though he tried to fight them back. Glorfindel, behind him, began to rub his back and close the distance between them with his body. He hoped to offer at least the comfort of his nearness.

Strong arms encircled Erestor and Fingon’s fingertips grazed Glorfindel’s skin before he embraced Erestor.  “I can go first,” he offered before he kissed Erestor’s neck. “I am having a hard time reconciling between being a very sensual person without the depth of sexual needs others have and having two amazing partners whose sexual needs at times far exceed a need for just being close and perhaps foreplay.  Foreplay may as well be sex for me; you know I do not need intercourse to climax. I feel as if I have to do more, even when told I do not, so that I do not feel inadequate or… broken. Dysfunctional.” He swallowed hard. “My conversation with Gildor was about what I might be able to do to get beyond that, and he saw it for what it was -- my attempt to force myself to do more than I am comfortable with.  I have great appreciation for his eloquent and at the same time oddly realistic and somewhat disturbing way of telling me I was a fool.”

“I understand the pressure to feel you are supposed to be something other than you are,” Erestor told him, fingers stroking Fingon’s cheek. “As rude and boorish as Gildor can be, there is also a frank and sometimes painful truth to his words. I have found him to be many things. Sometimes, he has been the cruellest person I have ever had the misfortune to meet. But he never lied. At least, that I know of. I do not know if it means anything now, but--all those years ago, when I wrote the letters to you that I never sent? It is a privilege to me, to try to meet your needs. I have always honestly cherished you as you are. Of course I love the sex. Of course I love the thought of you pounding inside of me. But I do not need those things--not all the time. The only thing I must have is you, and the knowledge that I have made your heart joyful. I would not feel that way, seeing that you were trying to be something you are not. I love you too much.”

“I love both of you very much, too.  You know that… and then here I am, trying to go beyond my limitations because I do love you so much.”  Fingon eased back just a little so that he could look at Erestor in the eyes, and to an extent Glorfindel as well, as he continued.  “I asked Gildor to bring me a stronger relaxant than the one I used the other night. I felt like I needed something so that I could… do everything the two of you do together, when I should really have just come to you and said that it bothers me more now that I reflect on it, and I should not be using some substance to dull my inhibitions.”

“I do not want you to do that,” Erestor said, now feeling worse. “Nor do I exactly...ugh, how to say this. I do not want you doing that for me. For us. If you wish to experience sex with lowered inhibitions because the idea interests you, that is one thing. But not because you wish to anesthetize your sensibilities. Even for Fin and I, this was a process. I mean...the tying up stuff, and some other things...we had to learn about each other. When boundaries were finally overcome or changed, it was because of love and patience, not drugs. I hope it is the same for you.” Reaching forward, he kissed Fingon’s lips tenderly.

After kissing Erestor in return, Fingon opened his eyes and nodded.  “I just need to… accept myself as the two of you are willing to accept me.  I fear this is going to lead to at least a few disappointing nights where it seems I am very interested in something only to realize it was not what I thought it was going to be.  No, not fear. I expect that shall happen. I have to stop speaking so negatively about the way I am.” Fingon pulled his arm back so that he could touch Erestor’s cheek. “You have patience for me, and I have patience for you.  I am not going to rush you into sharing with Fin and I all of the memories that plague your mind, but we are here for you, cupcake. When you are ready, even if it is the middle of the night, you wake me up. I think I speak for both of us,” he said, and Glorfindel nodded his head and placed a hand on Erestor’s shoulder to give it a squeeze of solidarity.

“That is just it,” Erestor said dejectedly. “There will always be a reason. Always an excuse. Above all my life has been thousands of years of those, plus lies and deceptions and drugs and drink, all so I would forget. It does not work that way, Fingon. Not for me. I need to just...start. No, I cannot get it out all at once, there is too much. But if I do not force myself it will never happen, nothing will ever change. And...it has to. I said I would do better. I want that, more than anything. So, I guess I should just start at the beginning, and tell the whole story no one ever heard.” The words were out of his mouth, but how to begin seemed just as far away. His mouth opened and closed, but his throat constricted with anxiety and his body shook. “Dammit,” he whispered, helpless and feeling adrift.

“Maybe,” spoke up Glorfindel gently, “there is a solution to be found nearby.  Both of them stem from Gildor. He was present for some of the things that occurred; he might be able to provide starting points.  As you pointed out, he is exceedingly honest. The other option is perhaps more immediate, and at the same time, I am rethinking this even as I say it.  The tincture he suggested I purchase had a very immediate and relaxing effect on Fingon. It might be a way for you to open up to us with less anxiety? But then, there is always a question on whether to use something like that, even though Gildor promised it was not addictive in nature.”

Erestor closed his eyes, feeling it was the best way he could think, though his hands remained on each of his partners. After quite a while, he began to answer as best he could. “I think I might need all those things. There is enough honesty in me to tell you that...this is very bad. I am slowly coming to realize just how bad. Drugs scare me after the scope of my addictions, but I have you both now. I do know I do not want to procure or take anything on my own. If we do that, I am trusting you to administer; Gildor is included in that. There is so much fear. I do not want to be this way but I have never known what else to do, lest I fall completely apart. And yet what I am doing isn’t really working, is it? I only thought it was, for all those years. I feel like such a fool. I am so sorry, especially toward you, Fin, for the sum of what I have put you through. It was not my intention.”

“Consider something very important, though, Erestor.  Both Glorfindel and I had significant spans of time where we were allowed to rest in the Halls of Waiting.  It is peaceful there, without the worries of life. I think you have done an amazing job of holding it together for as long as you have.”  Fingon looked past Erestor, hoping that Glorfindel would speak as well.

Glorfindel closed what little gap remained and kissed Erestor’s shoulder.  “When I think of all you managed to accomplish, I am in awe. I know terrible things happened, and I know it is going to cause me greater wonder at your abilities through the years.  We will aid you in whatever way we can. Maybe there are alternatives to the drugs. I think Gildor will know better than I would what that might be.” He kissed Erestor’s neck and whispered to him, “I love you.  I would do anything to see the playful energy that used to light your eyes in Gondolin. I know now that even then you were hurting, and I wish I had done more for you. I wish I had not added to that burden -- and I know that I did,” he hastily added before Erestor could disagree.

“Was not your fault,” Erestor murmured. “Nothing you could have done. I could not tell you so openly then, but you were what I wished I could have been like. It was already too late, and you had no way of knowing.” He laughed, softly. “Well, mostly. I hate to think of how many times my brainwashing failed.”

Fingon kissed Erestor on the nose.  “I have a confession to make. This is something I probably should have told Glorfindel sooner, but I suppose I did not want to get my hopes up, and, I did not… I still do not know what to do with what I have now that I have it.”  Fingon detangled himself from Erestor and the sheets and walked to a high shelf above the window that one could look out if they sat at the desk. Even he had to stretch up on the tips of his toes to lift up a box sitting there, and he slid out from beneath a large brown paper envelope.  He clutched it now in both hands, took a deep breath, and then returned to the bed, but did not yet crawl back in. “I did something, and I do not know how you are going to feel about the thing I did.” His fingers tapped against the envelope, which was sealed with the emblem of Indis.

Glorfindel peered over Erestor, but said nothing, reserving judgement until he heard more.

“What is it?” Erestor’s immediate reaction was to subsume his annoyance at anything to do with Indis, but he also wanted to hear what this was all about.

“Some years ago, when I returned to the mainland to collect some of the things I had at my parents’ and grandparents’ houses, I had a long talk with my grandmother.  Now, I know she has her faults -- there are times when I have had more than my share of her. I also know that if she thinks someone wronged any of her grandchildren, she can be tenacious.”  Fingon looked down at the envelope. “I made a deal with her. Do you recall, when I returned, I started to grow my hair out again? I… might have promised her I would do that, at least until after our wedding, which,” he now began to rush through the words, “means I might have promised that to her as well, though, I think I would have had a hard time getting out of that I just hope that is not going to be… well, we can discuss that later,” he decided.  He held up the envelope. “I asked her if she thought she could uncover… whatever happened to you at that clinic, Erestor. She did. That, and some other things, are in here.” He cleared his throat. “Maedhros knows what I was up to. This was not entirely a social call.” He chewed at his lip and added, “I have not opened it yet. I want to, and at the same time, it has bothered me since I asked her. I almost, strangely, wished she did not… it felt… I cannot explain.  I have no idea if I was right or wrong to do this, and if I was wrong, tell me now and I will cast it into a fire and we will never speak of it again.”

Glorfindel launched bolt upright, snatching the envelope out of Fingon’s hands. He did not move to open it, but an immense rage came over his face. “This was not wrong. And if I may point out, this is not only about Erestor.” Moving around, he came to kneel so that he could face Erestor. “I have asked you for few things other than your love in all our years together. But this...these people wronged me just as surely as they wronged you. Yes I am being selfish, and arrogant, and perhaps many other things to put myself first at a time like this, but I am begging you now, Ress. Let me know what this says. Do not take this away from me, because somewhere, it is still happening. They got to Faelion just as they got to you. The idea that there is another you, somewhere, right now, and that they are destroying him too, is more than I can endure. Please. Please give me the means to bring this evil to an end.” Tears streamed down Glorfindel’s face as he shook with wrath, reaching out to place a trembling hand on Erestor’s shoulder. The touch was as gentle as his demeanor was not, and for the first time since perhaps Gondolin a righteous anger had been awoken that had slain far greater foes in its time.

Fingon placed his hand at the back of Glorfindel’s neck, kneading it, hoping to provide some comfort, both with actions and words.  “They cannot be doing it anymore. All of the reports I received when my grandmother and Finrod were working on this and visiting the clinic was that the most horrific things had been shut down long ago.  That ward does not exist anymore.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “That clinic is not just a place. It was people, and their poisonous ideas. That is what has to be shut down. With exposure. And proof of the lengths to which they will go go achieve their ‘cures.’ For too long have all of us sat in the shadows while good lives are being destroyed on account of fear and prejudice. It has to stop, and that means casting the light of day into dark places. Ress, honey? Please, will you let me do this? At least let me look at what has been given here?”

“If you need time, I understand.  I can… well, I can try to get it away from Fin so that I can put it away,” said Fingon.  “We could--” A firm knock on the door cut him off, and Fingon took it upon himself as the one who was standing to get the door.  He pulled a robe that was draped over a chair over his shoulders and hastily tied it shut as a second knock came on the door. “Ooops.  This one is yours, Fin,” Fingon noted as he looked down, for while it was loose around the chest, it was also on the short side and cut off above his knees.  He reached the door and cracked it open just slightly to peer out. “Yes?” he said when he saw Gildor there.

“Remember that thing about paper-thin walls?  So, I have been a little shit and I was eavesdropping, but only because I love you all.  Maedhros and Asfaloth are out taking a ride. Mind if I come in?” Gildor lowered his gaze and he smirked.  “Nice fashion statement.”

Fingon licked his lips, held up a finger, and then closed the door.  He turned around, back against the door just in case Gildor tried to come in anyhow.  “Gildor. He wants to come in. He… heard some of the conversation.”

“Just let him in,” Erestor said quietly, so overwhelmed that even he realized nothing else mattered anymore. “Fin, I will give you what you want; as much as I have tried to ignore everything I have some idea of what my life has cost you. All I ask is that you not read it right now. Please give me until tomorrow. Only that, and you can have everything else. Hold me. Just...hold me.”

Fingon came around to the side of the bed that Glorfindel was on and slid the envelope from Glorfindel’s grasp.  “Go on. I will be right back. He needs you,” coaxed Fingon, and Glorfindel hurriedly got into bed again, this time pulling Erestor close.  His arms protectively embraced Erestor. Meanwhile, Fingon went back to the door, again opening it just a crack. “I have two favors to ask of you.  The first is, and I feel terrible to ask a guest to do this, but can you possibly take charge on lunch today? Supper, too, if it is not too much of an imposition.”

“Of course,” answered Gildor, demeanor changed once he saw the serious nature of Fingon’s expression.  “Anything else?”

Fingon looked down at the envelope, and then slipped it through the doorway.  “I need you to put this somewhere safe until tomorrow, and I beg you not to look at the contents.”

Gildor took the package carefully and nodded.  “Done and done.” Gildor took a step back. “Give Erestor a hug for me, alright?”

Fingon nodded and closed the door.  This time he locked it before he returned to the bed.  The robe was discarded on the floor as he joined his spouses and wrapped his arms around Erestor.  “This one is from Gildor,” he said as he tightened his hold slightly. “The rest are from me, beautiful.”

“Am I going to survive this?” Erestor asked his husbands, in an unsteady voice. “I am still a coward.”

“To your question, yes,” Fingon said firmly.  “Yes, you will. I am confident of this because whatever happened already happened.  Just like that son-of-a-bitch coach is never going to touch me again, none of the people who hurt you are ever, ever, going to come near you.  You are safe with us, you are loved by us, and you can be damned sure I am going to do everything in my power to chase these demons out of your head for good.”

Apparently that was what Erestor needed to hear more than anything else, for he clung to whatever body parts were within his reach and cried softly. Not the terror or previous times, but enough to allow the anxiety he felt to leach from his spirit. Amidst the steady sounds of breathing, beating hearts, and the soothing caresses bestowed on him he soon fell fast asleep in his lovers’ arms.

_ I know you believe what you said to him _ , Glorfindel told Fingon in thought.  _ You are sure? This could create ripples none of us can foresee _ .

Fingon, still not as confident with his abilities to speak to only one mate and not have the other listen in, spoke extremely soft and low.  “When I was defending my first all-around title, it came off an injury. I was probably not completely healed, but I was determined to compete.  Because of my injury, I was an independent athlete -- my team let me go, and Finrod was my patron, paying for gym time for practice and coaches to work with me intermittently.  It was during a… hiatus that Maedhros and I were taking from one another. I was in a very low place. Most of the events went well, and then the last two rotations were vault and pommel horse, two of my worst events.  I came up on vault as the last person on that apparatus because I was defending. My scores were great from the other events, but I wanted more of a spread, and I knew I could do better on vault than pommel horse. I took a chance.  I fell the first vault. When I got up, I knew something was wrong, but I went for the second vault anyhow. The moment I landed, I knew I was done. I could feel the pain all the way into my chest. Somehow I limped off -- I managed a decent landing, but it was off.  Finrod was there at the side, and we looked at each other, and he knew. He knew I tore or broke something. But he knew how much I wanted it. Maybe he knew more than I knew. And he said to me, he said, ‘you can do it’. And I started to shake my head, but he repeated himself.  ‘You can do it.’ He must have said it at least a half dozen times, and you know what? I believed him. I needed someone else to tell me, because I was ready to walk--excuse me, limp, away.”

Glorfindel stared for a moment. Fingon’s ability to master himself was not really in question--it was his ability to exert dominance over anything and everything they might encounter as this unfolded. Then, he raised his eyes back up and recalled who this was. And that his word meant more than that of many others, just for that reason.  _ Thank you. Know that whatever this takes, I too will not back down. For his sake, and for the sake of everyone like him. _

“You know I rarely back down, and I will certainly not back down this time.  I will not pretend it will be easy.” He paused, again checking to be sure Erestor was actually asleep, for how many times had he actually been awake when he and Glorfindel were talking at bedtime?  He blew at Erestor’s nose, and was satisfied when there was not so much as a twitch or a flutter of eyelashes. “When I got back up for that final rotation, my leg was swollen so badly I had to cut the fabric of my uniform off at the knee.  The judges advised I stop; I had secured the medals for floor and rings, and that was more than anyone expected of me. I told them I was fine, but I was terrified. I knew what I was about to do meant I might have ended my entire career early.  I barely remember the mount, and I know I just went through all of the combinations without thinking about it, because all I could think about was the split second of the dismount, and whether I could actually manage it. I knew I had to stick the landing.  I knew it was not as intense as the vault, but I also knew I was very injured.”

“What would have happened if you did it all and did not actually land?” asked Glorfindel.

“There is too much energy in the event, and even if I could have slowed, I would have lost points and the whole thing would have been pointless.  Literally. Before I knew it, I was on the final combination, and I had to either very gently ease myself down and accept a fourth place finish at best, or go for it.  You know me. I went for it. I had Finrod telling me I could do it. And I did it. I injured myself worse than I had been previously, and I have no idea how I managed to hold the dismount as long as I did to make sure it counted, but that was all that mattered.  It hurt so bad, and I remember collapsing on the ground, and I know I called out for my mother, and I know that Finrod shoved past the games guardians to get to me so he could carry me out of there, but I did it. As much pain as it caused, as hard as it was, I did it.  I did it because I knew that prick of a coach was there, and I wanted him to see, he was not the one responsible for my wins the year before. I was. I-- shit, am I crying?” Fingon carefully moved one hand away from Erestor to wipe his face. “He can do this, Glorfindel.  He is going to need us, and Gildor, and Maedhros, and the unnamed dog, and Asfaloth, and… and it is going to take time. It is going to hurt, but in the end, it will be better, and he can do this. We can do this.”

“I love you,” Glorfindel answered honestly. “So much. I thank you for loving him, and me.” Glorfindel shook his head. “Without you we were both failures--used-up cast-offs. Do not shake your head! It is true, Káno, whether you want to see it that way or not. In my heart I believe you were sent to save us both. From each other, and from ourselves. This is not about recrimination or dredging up old bullshit. I have only gratitude, and there is no one I would rather have at my side for this.”

“The two of you saved me as well,” said Fingon.  “From loneliness, and my curmudgeon existence of self-loathing and solitude.  Also, from having my grandmother continue to ask me ‘when are you going to find a nice boy and settle down and get married?’”  He smiled sheepishly. “I, uh… I am not sure if I should apologize about the wedding part or not. She is going to insist upon it now.  I will practice my apologies if this is something you and Erestor object to. I sort of agreed to it without really thinking it through.”

“Will do anything for you,” Erestor murmured sleepily. “Especially if you stop talking.”

Fingon groaned as he kissed the back of Erestor’s head.  “Someday I will learn. Someday.” He gave Glorfindel a look that definitely said he was not going to learn anytime soon if ever when Erestor was actually sleeping and when he was listening in inadvertently.

“Wazza only thingi heard” Erestor mumbled again, snuggling closer to Fingon. “Luvyuu.”  Soon regular breathing resumed.

“He might be telling the truth,” Glorfindel smiled. “Lately he does not try to guard his thoughts  near times of sleep. Which might not sound like a great thing, but it means the world to me. It means he trusts us.”

Fingon nuzzled Erestor’s hair again, and then suddenly realized what Erestor had been referring to.  “Oh! The wedding,” he hissed back to Glorfindel. “That was what he heard… I thought he was going to be the difficult one to convince.”  And now Fingon blinked a few times, full on puppy face mode, as he waited for a reply from Glorfindel.

“You do not have to ask,” the blond shook his head. “I am yours, Káno. For you I would do that and far more.”

With a content smile, Fingon reached over Erestor to stroke Glorfindel’s cheek.  “You are the only person younger than me that I have ever been attracted to. Did you know that?  I have no idea why I felt I should tell you that-- perhaps just the fact that I am tired and need sleep.  Before noon, and already, I need a nap.” He tapped Glorfindel’s nose, and then blew him a kiss, not wishing to disturb Erestor.  “I love you, sunshine.”

“I am only sunshine because you chased the clouds away,” Glorfindel told him, somehow pleased in spite of himself. Yes, he knew of his own beauty, and that he was not unattractive to others--yet the comment made him feel extra special regardless. Sending his own kiss across the ether, he settled down, understanding that they all needed rest. Holding Erestor tightly, he recalled the times in Gondolin when he would have given most anything to do this. Now it was his, and always would be--despite those who had tried to ruin it forever. His hold relaxed, as he drifted away to slumber.


	5. Day Five

#### Late Morning

“Mail call!” Gildor said gleefully as he brought a small stack into the sitting room.  Glorfindel was painting, or trying to, while Maedhros and Erestor played a game of chess and Fingon sat writing letters at his little lap desk.  Asfaloth was on Gildor’s heels, for the pair had been in the yard seeking the best hair braiding flowers when the mail arrived.

“Oh, shoot.  I wanted to get these out to the courier,” said Fingon of the pile on the table beside him.

“Allow us.  We can catch him.  Right Asfaloth?” asked Gildor as he traded what he held for what Fingon had on the table.  Asfaloth nodded with excitement and skipped out the door. “We will be right back,” promised Gildor on his way out.

“Anything interesting?” asked Glorfindel as he set down the brush in his hands.  He was amazed at how calm Erestor remained that morning -- in fact, Erestor had won three of the four games played against Maedhros.  Glorfindel’s attempts had been less than successful; he had completed the wash on the sky portion of the canvas, and dotted in a few clouds that looked like lumpy pudding, but beyond this was not productive.  He walked over and joined Fingon on the couch.

“A package for you,” Fingon said as he handed the box to Glorfindel.  There were three other envelopes, all addressed to Fingon. Fingon waited for Glorfindel to open his parcel, which contained a selection of powders he would mix with other ingredients to create paint colors only found on the mainland.  Glorfindel held the box in his lap while he turned his attention to Fingon’s correspondence. “A letter from my sister, a letter from… someone I do not know who must be a fan, and a letter from my cousin.”

Maedhros lifted his head upon hearing the word ‘fan’.  “You have admirers writing to you?”

Fingon narrowed his eyes as he looked up.  “No. Just… people who adore me,” he mumbled.

“I adore you,” said Erestor as he captured Maedhros’ other rook.

Maedhros chuckled and moved his knight to protect his king.  “What is your definition of ‘fan’?” asked Maedhros.

“It does not concern you, so leave it alone,” Fingon said, and he shuffled the letter to the bottom of the pile.

Glorfindel, however, reached out to slip the letter away from Fingon.  “It might not concern him, but it does concern Erestor and I,” he teased.  Fingon’s posture was stiff as Glorfindel opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.  He read it, but not out loud.

“You should read it for all of us,” suggested Maedhros.  “Since it concerns Erestor, of course,” he added as Fingon glared at him.

Glorfindel skimmed the rest of the letter before he addressed Fingon.  “Do you even know this person? What they write is… extremely complimentary.  Flirtatious, even.”

“I have no idea who they are,” answered Fingon.

Glorfindel looked the letter over again with a frown as Erestor approached so that he could read over Glorfindel’s shoulder.  “It seems pretty generic,” said Erestor. “The address is very formal.” His eyes moved along the page, and a brow rose halfway through.  “Alright. I agree with Glorfindel’s assessment. This is a little more… wait, is that a proposition?” Erestor squeezed in on the other side of Glorfindel, and now Maedhros meandered over to get a peek.  “Why are random people writing to offer their services as a surrogate to provide you children?” Erestor looked around Glorfindel for an answer, but all Fingon did was shrug as Gildor and Asfaloth returned, stack of letters still held by Gildor.

“So sorry!  We tried, but we have no idea where he is now,” apologized Gildor.  “He must weave on and off of the road or something, because there was no trace of him anywhere for us-- hey!”  Gildor was caught by surprise when Glorfindel sprang up and snatched the pile of letters from him. “Glorfindel… what are--”

“Well this is just a mess,” Asfaloth said nervously as he watched Glorfindel sort through the letters, rejecting on to the floor anything that he noticed was official business or addressed to someone he knew.  When he reached the first envelope with a name he did not recognize, he tore it open.

“That is not how mail works, Fin,” said Gildor in an attempt to joke, but Maedhros pulled Gildor back from the others, and as an afterthought, coaxed Asfaloth to stand by the chess board with them as well.

Glorfindel read through the letter as Fingon sat quietly with his hands folded.  Erestor stood up to see the words as well, and commented, “That is one of the most boring and practiced things I have ever read.  How many of these do you write per week?” asked Erestor.

“Dozens, at least,” answered Fingon.  

Glorfindel waved the letter.  “Why do you respond? Have you ever met any of them?”

“No.  This is all rather complicated,” said Fingon.

“Damn right it is,” said Glorfindel.  “Why would you write letters back to…”

“Admirers?” offered Erestor, and Fingon sighed.

“I do not wish to be rude,” Fingon explained.  “This way, I can just gently tell them that I am flattered, and not to write any more.”

“Does that actually work?” wondered Gildor before Maedhros pinched his side.

“Sometimes.”  Fingon sat back.  “Mostly not.”

“On average, how many times does someone write back?” wondered Erestor.

“More than they need to,” said Fingon.  

“Where are all of these letters?” demanded Glorfindel.  “I wish to see them.”

Fingon waved a hand at the fireplace.  “Good luck. I use them for kindling.”

Glorfindel snorted as he walked across the room and removed the grating.  “To destroy the evidence, no doubt.”

“Because they mean nothing to me!” Now Fingon’s anger surfaced.  “I cannot help it if people are going to write to me. I cannot stop them from putting pen to paper and scribbling words that make suggestions I am wholly uninterested in.”

Glorfindel looked down at the ashes.  When it was evident he would not find the remnants of any letters there, he replaced the grating and returned to pick up the latest unsolicited letter.  “I will answer these from now on,” he said firmly. “I have more free time at the house, and I can be firmer that they are no longer to write to you.”

Fingon appeared hesitant, but Erestor set a hand on his arm.  “It sounds like a really good idea,” advised Erestor, and Fingon nodded.

“Who are the other letters from?” asked Glorfindel.

“As I said, my sister and my cousin,” Fingon replied.

“Which cousin?” Glorfindel asked as he folded the undesirable letter and placed it into his pocket.

Fingon sighed heavily.  “Finrod.”

“Ah!  Papa!” said Gildor excitedly.  “He is probably warning you of my arrival and it just came late,” he teased.

Fingon smirked, and then gave Glorfindel a harsher look.  “May I open them?”

Glorfindel sat back down between Erestor and Fingon.  After it was obvious that Fingon would wait until he gave his permission, Glorfindel gave a wave of his hand.  “Proceed.”

Fingon kissed Glorfindel’s brow, and Erestor patted Glorfindel’s knee on his way back to his game.  Gildor was pulled into Maedhros’ lap once he was seated, and Asfaloth wandered back outside after eating all of the flowers that had been placed in his hair.  The paper for this letter was finer than the last, and the envelope held a seal and ribbon to be sure it was not broken before arrival. Fingon withdrew the page.  As he read, the soft smile that accompanied greetings from a favorite relative soon faded as he reached midway. He exchanged a few silent glances with Glorfindel, knowing he was also seeing the same words.

“Everything alright with my father?” asked Gildor as he played the next move for Maedhros.

“He and your mother are doing well.  Everything is great at the school.” Fingon fought to find something else in the letter he was willing to share.  “Oh, yes, he does warn me that you are coming, but his specific words are ‘lock up your husbands if you get this in time’.”

“I love my papa,” Gildor said with a little laughter as he captured Erestor’s bishop.  “Checkmate.”

“Maybe the two of you should play a while,” suggested Maedhros.  Gildor stood so that Maedhros could remove himself, and then faced off against Erestor.  “I think maybe the rest of us should get started on lunch,” suggested Maedhros as he gave Fingon and Glorfindel a questioning look unseen by his mate or Erestor.

Fingon gave a curt nod and led the way out to the kitchen, letter still in his hand, Glorfindel and Maedhros following him.  He held it out to Maedhros once they were out of earshot of the others. “Did you know about this?” he hissed.

Maedhros took hold of the letter and looked it over.  His eyes widened when he made it halfway. “Indis bought the clinic.  I had no idea--”

“Keep reading,” fumed Fingon.

Maedhros looked back down.  “HOLY SH--” Maedhros smacked his wrist over his mouth as Fingon hushed him.  “Sorry. And Fingon -- I am sorry. I did not realize you gave her permission to use your finances to purchase the clinic.”

“I did not authorize that,” Fingon said tersely.  “I told her that if she and Finrod needed to pay for expenses, they could draw from the funds I had remaining in Valinor from the sale of the theatre.  I did not expect them to drain the account. Well, her. I did not expect her to use everything to buy the damned place! Finrod was doing pretty well investigating it and tracking people down, but she seems to have become impatient.  She just wants the stupid fucking wedding to show off to all of her friends,” grumbled Fingon.

“What wedding?” asked Glorfindel.

Fingon pulled a chair out from the table and sat down.  “I promised her that I would come back to Tirion with the two of you and we would have a big wedding.”

“Oh, yes, you mentioned that last night.  You said that was why you grew your hair long again.  What else did you promise to her?” asked Glorfindel as he came behind the chair to knead Fingon’s shoulders.

“That I would come to court on a more regular basis, and that I would speak to Ereinion about doing the same,” he mumbled.  “Every time she uncovered a little more, she would tell me she was stuck and that perhaps she could get a little further if I promised something else.”

“That woman,” was all Maedhros said as he shook his head.  “What did she promise you in return?”

“As much information as she could gather -- but now, from this letter,” Fingon said as he motioned to the paper Maedhros held, “it was more Finrod all this while anyhow.  She just sat around and made up promises for me and became impatient about this whole wedding.”

“Did you have a contract with her?” asked Maedhros.

“Of course not,” sighed Fingon.  “She is my grandmother.”

“Then she cannot hold you to any of it,” Maedhros reasoned.

“Do you really want me to start a war with the family?” came Fingon’s sour reply.

“Actually, yes, we could use one, but, no, not for your sake,” said Maedhros.  “In my mind, she broke her end of the deal. She used your funds to just buy the place.  You could have done that without her. Finrod could have done it on your behalf.”

“Finrod is not an idiot like that,” grumbled Fingon.

“Agreed.  Why did you go to your grandmother to begin with, if I may ask?” questioned Maedhros.

“I just… they… you know, Maedhros,” Fingon whined softly.

“I do not know,” piped up Glorfindel when Maedhros nodded.

“When Fingon was in competition, his parents were still at home raising the other children.  Our grandfather and number two--”

“Do not call her that,” Fingon said, but he laughed slightly and then wiped his smile away.

“What?  Come on.  It was funny.”  Maedhros stopped to explain the joke.  “At some point when we were younger, Turgon made the observation that our grandfather had two wives, just like there are two options for waste, and... it was Turgon, he did not mean it as it came out, but it came out that way, and we would call Indis ‘number two’, especially in front of Turgon, because it really bothered him, but the rest of us laughed about his odd analogy.”

“It seems accurate today,” Glorfindel said.

Maedhros folded the letter and brought it to Fingon.  “During the competitions, when Fingon’s parents could not attend, his grandparents would.  After competitions, it is very customary for athletes to go and eat with their families, and to have them come to practices, and that sort of thing.  In most cases, it was our grandfather and Indis who were there, acting as parents.”

“I became close to them.  I sometimes go to my grandparents with problems before I seek out my parents,” said Fingon.

“And then, when things do not work with parents and grandparents, we all end up talking to Felagund,” said Maedhros.

This tidbit intrigued Glorfindel.  “Why is that?”

“Of all of the people in the generation Fingon and I are in, Finrod is the eldest,” explained Maedhros.  “Everyone thinks it has to be me, but Finrod is about… four years older?” He looked to Fingon.

“I thought it was six.”

“Less than ten, but older.  And then Aranwë, and then me, then Orodreth, then Maglor, and then… was it you or Celegorm first?” Maedhros asked Fingon.

“We are like, the same year, I think,” said Fingon.  “He might have been born first. Anyhow, I was the first grandchild of my grandmother’s first born son, so it was kind of a big deal.”

Maedhros patted Fingon’s head.  “Translation: Someone was spoiled.”

“So what are we going to do about this new development?” asked Glorfindel.  “You are not actually going to keep that hideous building, are you? Unless of course you intend  to throw down the walls. I would be all for that, and we know you have it in you to do it.”

“We need to see what is in that envelope first,” Fingon reminded them.  “We may need to return if it does not contain all of the evidence -- or, to collect more.”

“So long as you do not suggest to bring Erestor.  He is never to go into that place again,” Glorfindel said firmly, and Fingon nodded in agreement.

  


#### Early Evening

Glorfindel propped open another window in the great room and shook his head.  “Why did they make the windows so small in here?” He wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

“I bet the rooftop has a nice breeze,” suggested Gildor as he nudged Glofindel’s shoulder and waggled his brows.

“No,” muttered Glorfindel under his breath.

Fingon, who was also propping the windows open nearby, turned around wiped the back of his neck with his handkerchief.  “He is probably right, Glorfindel. We could camp up on the roof under the stars.”

“Yessss…”  Gildor grabbed and squeezed Glorfindel’s arm, but Glorfindel shook him off.

“No, Káno, he means… something else,” said Glorfindel as he struggled to open another of the ancient windows.

Fingon frowned.  “What do you mean, Gildor?”

“Ah…”  Gildor glanced between Glorfindel and Fingon, and finally whimpered when Glorfindel glared at him.  “Fin, there is no way I win this one.”

“Win what?”  Fingon’s voice was demanding now, and gained the attention of Maedhros and Erestor, who entered from the sitting room.

“Oh, fuck.”  Gildor shrugged as Glorfindel groaned.  “What? It is not that far off.”

Fingon turned to Maedhros.  “Do you know what this rooftop thing is all about?”

Maedhros shook his head.  “No, but I want to.” He looked to Gildor.  “What scheme were you planning, sweetcheeks?”

“Oh… you know… rooftop… five men… naked time.”  Gildor shrugged. “I left it really open-ended after that.”

Maedhros narrowed his eyes at Gildor while Fingon did the same at Glorfindel.  “You knew about this?” Fingon asked Glorfindel.

“So did I,” said Erestor.  “It was a joke,” he said firmly with a equally firm look at Gildor.  “We should drop it.”

“I did not mean we go up there and fuck each other blind,” huffed Gildor.  “Just, you know… some of us already had some relations with each other before, and things were getting friendly again, and some of us are adventurous, and so long as everyone keeps track of where they shove their cocks--”

“Gildor!” scolded Glorfindel, mortified.

Maedhros licked his lips and looked at Fingon, who was now biting his lip and looking at the ground.  “Weird. A whole group of gay men spending an evening together in some hidden place. That sounds like such a novel idea.”

Fingon ran a hand over his head.  “That was a long time ago,” he mumbled.

Now all eyes were on Fingon.  “What was a long time ago?” Gildor dared to ask.

“You want to explain, or should I?” asked Maedhros.

Fingon bit at his thumbnail.  “Several activities used to attract homosexual males in the early days of Valinor.  One of them happened to be gymnastics. In some of the far western and northern cities, there were gymnastics clubs there who had secret parties.  A lot of caves were used by teams as staging areas and for practice and they would have underground springs for bathing, and sometimes there were secret passages into them.  I may have gone to some of these gatherings.” Fingon sighed when Maedhros burst out laughing. “Alright. It was my hobby next to gymnastics, and sometimes I hosted them. Better?” he asked Maedhros.

“Did you go to these?” asked Gildor of his mate, with envy in his eyes.

Maedhros shook his head, and motioned at Fingon.  “Not with any amount of frequency, that is for sure.  He is the polyamorous one.”

No one initially replied to this new knowledge, but the emotional range was extensive within the room.  Gildor, showing a curious look, put his hands on his hips. “Are you attracted to me?” he asked Fingon directly.  “Not in a ‘I want to fuck you’ sort of way, but in a ‘we need more cuddle time’ way?”

Fingon’s cheeks colored red, and Erestor closed the distance to place his hand on Fingon’s shoulder.  “No one is going to be upset, no matter how you answer,” he said, and a look to Glorfindel confirmed this.

“Yes,” came the very quiet, and embarrassed, reply.

“I knew it!”  Gildor practically launched himself upon Fingon, giving him a hug, which was returned.  “I TOLD Mae Mae that was the case, but he said Noooooo, I just think everyone is attracted to me.”  Fingon tentatively returned the hug, but continued to blush with his gaze cast down.

“Fingon just loves everyone,” Maedhros said.  “Except my father. They have issues.”

“And Morgoth,” Fingon mumbled.  “We have issues, too.”

“Everyone has issues with him,” Erestor quipped, crossing his arms and looking away. “Look, I for one would very much enjoy the fresh air up there. I am not interested in entertaining discussion of sexual activities on the rooftop. Can we all not be adults enough to simply take pillows and some linens there and converse about something besides orgies?” His voice held an uncharacteristically tense edge to it.

“Easy, Ress,” Glorfindel spoke, going to him. “No one is trying to upset anyone. And yes, I would like that, too. Are he and I going alone?” Glorfindel’s gaze passed over the other three in the room with his eyebrows arched.

“Me, too!” Gildor grabbed whatever pillows were within reach and pushed his way past everyone to bound up the stairs.  He was back down a few seconds later, peering over the pile of pillows in his grasp. “How does one get to the roof?” he asked.

“Come on,” Glorfindel said, piling his arms with folded blankets. “I suggest anyone who is coming follow us, because it is a bit of a labyrinth to get there.”

“We should bring wine,” suggested Maedhros.

Fingon looked least certain of everyone, but he nodded when it was evident that the others intended to leave him there if he did not follow.  “If the rest of you go on up, Maedhros and I can bring wine and food so that we have it.”

“Also a piss bucket,” said Gildor.  Maedhros rolled his eyes. “What? I am not pissing off the roof like a flet in Lothlorien,” he sniffed as he stepped aside to allow Glorfindel the ability to pass.  Erestor was next, with blankets as well, and the three made their way up the steps to the third floor, then down a stuffy corridor to a door leading to a balcony. From the balcony, they climbed an outer stairway, and soon were stepping onto the roof.  “Oh, this is lovely,” remarked Gildor, for Erestor kept many potted plants here, and there were some chairs and tables that could take the weather. There was also a barrier around the roof to keep anyone there from falling off. It was slightly sloped so that rain and snow would not collect and weigh on the rooftop.  “The view is amazing!”

“Wait until the stars come out,” said Erestor as he began to spread blankets.  “Then you will be truly amazed.”

“I do not know why we do not do this more often,” Glorfindel remarked as he helped Erestor and then arranged the pillows nicely. “It is considerably cooler here and the view is certainly better.”

“I tried to bring Fingon up here when it was just the two of us,” said Erestor.  “The rooftop is not the cleanest no matter how much I sweep, the sun gets in his eyes, the bugs get in his hair, the breeze can make him too cold, and the scent of some of the flowers gives him a headache.  Luckily none of those are in bloom right now.”

Glorfindel sighed.  “Right. That would be why we do not come up here.  Gildor, do you and Mae have any such place at your home?”

“Not outdoors like this,” said Gildor, “but the main room of the house is cozy in this manner.  Pillows and cushions, covered with throws, and low poofy things to sit on -- that is where we spend most of our time in the house.  We hardly make it to the bedroom.”

Erestor smiled, but elected not to take the bait. “That sounds nice. We are too lazy to do anything like that but maybe we ought to,” he mused.

“Only if we could launder it every other day, ensure the dog will not go near it, and keep any insects from finding it for their own place of rest and refreshment,” Glorfindel chuckled.

“True,” sighed Erestor, only now pondering that their husband really was a bit of a dainty dandy despite his ability to intimidate just about anyone simply by flexing his muscles.

Glorfindel’s eyebrows raised and he coughed seemingly for no reason. “Oh dear. Well. Hopefully the boys will be along soon with something to drink.”

Erestor, not fooled for a moment, grinned. “Indeed.”

Gildor plopped down on a cushion and grabbed another pillow to hold.  “This is so much nicer up here. I could almost keep my clothing on. But then, what fun would there be in that?”  He peered up for the reaction.

“Gildor…” Glorfindel growled a warning and sighed, his voice becoming much gentler. “Look, they are not up here yet so I will just spell it out. You do not know what it took for Fingon to get to where he is now, feeling some desire for sexual encounters. Breaking down his fears and uncertainties, experiencing personal growth in this part of his life. The fastest way to help wreck all of that is to keep pushing him when he is not ready for more. Am I making any sense to you?”

“I do not want to have sex with him,” Gildor said, and he sounded truthful about it.  “We do not need sex to get naked and have a good time. That said, I will follow your lead, and you, I believe, will follow his.  I am just grateful to be in a cool place outside of that stuffy house.”

“We were not saying you did,” Erestor corrected hesitantly. “And, thank you. I am not unaware that he can seem recalcitrant for no reason, but to him there _are_ reasons. I really do not know how much I should say out of respect for him.”

“Probably right there is just about enough,” Glorfindel cautioned, though with humor. “And let us just enjoy the breeze. This is so, so much better. That being said, I think shirts off is fine. The rest...let us see how it goes.” Glorfindel stripped off his tunic, wadding it up to cushion his neck just a little better, and sighed contentedly as he made himself comfortable.

Erestor did the same, but sounds on the stairway were heard before Gildor could relieve himself of any of his clothing.  Maedhros emerged first, and gave Gildor an odd look. “This has to be the first time you have more on than anyone else in the room, er, roof.”  Maedhros had changed into a pair of short breeches and nothing more, while Fingon had opted for something slightly more casual -- a long wrap, almost skirt-like, of flowing fabric.  He had also bundled his braids together in an attempt to keep them somewhat off of his neck, while Maedhros had opted for a messy bun he had obviously created on his own. They brought wine and fruit, and jerked meat for those who would partake in that.  Maedhros lowered a bucket, the handle of which had been looped over his right arm, down to the ground. “One piss bucket for the most adorable elf,” he announced, and Gildor blew him a kiss.

“Mmmm, you incurable romantic,” Gildor replied effusively.

Erestor and Glorfindel grinned at the widening of Fingon’s eyes. _Wait for it,_ Erestor told Glorfindel silently and privately.

“How can a piss bucket possibly be romantic?” Fingon blurted out.

 _Aaaand there he goes,_ Erestor added smugly. Glorfindel discreetly elbowed him in the ribs while appearing to reach for a cluster of grapes.

“I was wondering that myself,” teased Glorfindel, deciding that Fingon should not be sold down the river. “I mean, to earn that comment I usually have to at least have supplied candy. Or extra-good wine. But a piss-bucket is utterly outside of my experience in this regard.”

“Ah, but you see, we appreciate each and every little thing we do for each other,” cooed Gildor as Maedhros came to kneel before him.  “Every moment together is blessed.” Gildor raised his arms without needing to be told what to do, and Maedhros, not without minor struggle, removed Gildor’s shirt and tossed it aside.  “Thank you, my darling,” he said before he leaned in, not to kiss Maedhros, but to rub their noses together.

“Of course, sweetling.”  Maedhros grinned and kissed Gildor’s nose before he stood up again.  “We did not bring glasses. I cited it would be difficult to manage them; Fingon had concerns about what might happen if we all drink from the same bottle.  I assured him that old wives’ tale about drinking from the same glass as someone who is ‘unclean’ is not only a falsehood, but, in our cases… who the fuck cares?”  He held out the bottle to Gildor, who happily uncorked it for him.

“No one here is ill; I have no objections,” Glorfindel said cautiously, not wishing Fingon to feel unsupported.

“Me either,” Erestor added. He felt far more occupied with the glorious play of the moving air over his exposed skin.

Gildor stood up and walked the bottle to Fingon.  “You can drink first if you like,” he offered.

Fingon took the bottle and licked his lips.  “Thank you.” He took a small sip and held it back to Gildor.

“I like your… uh… garment,” Gildor settled on as he looked at what Fingon had chosen to wear.

Fingon looked down as well.  It was a printed fabric with swirls of blue and gold on a white background.  “I did not know how it would be up here.”

“Much better than inside,” spoke up Maedhros, and Fingon was hard pressed to disagree with that.

“Well, what is the news from the mainland?” Erestor wanted to know. “Life is on the quiet side, here. At least, it seems that way. We do not much seek out word of what is happening off the island.”

Maedhros was already nesting in a spot that allowed him to rest his back against the barrier, and Gildor was positioning himself so that he could lie with his head upon Maedhros’ knee.  “Where to start?” wondered Gildor. “Do you want to share your exciting family news, or should I give them the rest of the gossip?”

“What I have to share feels like the grand finale,” remarked Maedhros.  “At least give them something to lead up to it.”

“Ah, true.”  Gildor opened his mouth so that Maedhros could deposit a juicy grape there.  “Who wants the Faelion and friends report?”

Erestor looked worriedly at Glorfindel, trying to read his expression. “I think maybe--”

“Sure, why not,” Glorfindel cut him off. “What is that pompous ass doing these days?”

“The latest production, which had excessive cost involved due to the number of costume changes -- twelve for the full cast -- flopped the first week.  As it turns out, while he has many followers, these followers are mostly very young ladies who do not have the means to pay for tickets for these grand productions.  Consequently, he was recast on the third week.” Gildor grinned as he chewed another grape.

“Do you want to tell them who was cast in his place?” prodded Maedhros.

“Lindir,” said Gildor smugly.  “He has been the talk of the theatre-goers ever since.  It was quite the promotion for him to move from the orchestra to the stage, but they needed someone who could sing and fit into all of those clothes, which apparently needed only minor adjustments.  Everyone loves him, because for all his pizzazz in person and energy on stage, he goes out for the curtain call quite shyly and always says things like ‘thank you so very much, you are all much too kind’ in a very calm and quiet manner.  I just want to put him in my pocket and take him home with me.”

“He wants to do that with most people,” Maedhros laughed as he teased Gildor with another grape, then ate it himself.

“Not you,” Gildor drawled.  “I want to be the one in your pocket.”  He winked.

“Wait,” Fingon interjected, having paid careful attention to this. “I want to understand how it is--as in, in what manner--could Faelion have managed such a...what in fuck did he do wrong exactly to get himself booted? For I want to have a full and complete understanding of how that asshole took his pratfall. It is the only means by which I will experience the complete and pervading enjoyment I desire from this news.” He placed his chin on his knees and batted his eyelashes in a manner he hoped Gildor appreciated.

Gildor sat up and pointed a finger of each hand at Fingon.  “You. Into my pocket. Now.” He giggled when Maedhros bonked him on his head with his stump.  “For starters, this was not a production hosted by Salgant. Salgant inflated the numbers from the last few shows and bragged about Faelion to anyone who would listen.  Someone did, and did not heed warnings from others about Faelion’s mediocrity. Faelion does have talent, but not as a lead, not at this time in his life. It was cute when he was just barely at his majority, but now he is playing with the adults, and he had to be able to hold his own there.  The production lost a few other players due to his attitude, and on opening night, he pissed off the stage director by refusing to go on immediately because ‘good things come to those who wait’. The producer was furious, and demanded it never happen again. The second night, Faelion ad-libbed something that the producer was adamant was to stay scripted.  By the end of the week, ticket sales were dropping off, and people were asking for refunds. Faelion refused a curtain call because he had some other engagement after the matinee, and he was told not to come back.”

“Still an ass, then,” Glorfindel quipped, reaching for Fingon. “Though why I might think anything could possibly be otherwise lies beyond me.”

“I think this is only the beginning of greater disasters for him,” Erestor opined thoughtfully. “Not our problem. Insufferable prick.”

“In the scope of technology, Celebrimbor is working on something that captures music in a gem, sort of how Feanor was doing the same with light.  What he showed us so far is pretty basic, but promising,” said Gildor.

“A party trick,” was Maedhros’ assessment.  “If he can do it, why would anyone want to hear the same song over and over?”

“Oh… maybe in a nursery, he could put lullabies into those stones, for tired parents who do not want to sit through ten more verses of a favorite song?  Or...dancers,” Gildor pointed out with a nod to Fingon. “Then they can practice even if they have no musicians around.”

“I still think it is a waste of time and talent on his part,” Maedhros said.

“I feel it is rather brilliant,” Fingon sided with Gildor. “As he mentioned, there are applications for which this fills a need. Not to mention, sometimes experimentation with one pursuit leads to discoveries useful in unanticipated fields of study. It strikes me as quite productive, and an expression of a scientific mind. I believe your father would agree, Maedhros.”

“I just do not want to see another silmaril episode,” warned Maedhros.

“None of us do,” agreed Gildor.  He rested his head on Maedhros’ lap again.  “I think we have enough of a build up to the main event.”

“Do we?”  Maedhros looked down.  “Do you want to tell them, then?”

“They are your parents,” Gildor said as he lifted his hand and booped Maedhros’ nose.

“Why does this make me nervous,” muttered Erestor.

“Now, now, cupcake. Let us hear what they have to say.” Fingon stole a grape from Glorfindel in order to offer it to Erestor.

“Should we have them guess?” asked Gildor excitedly.

“I was unable to guess, and I was standing right there with them when they told me,” said Maedhros.

Gildor rolled his eyes.  “I still do not know how you could not see what was going on.”

Maedhros bounced a grape off of Gildor’s cheek, which Gildor caught in his hand.  “We are not all so observant.”

“But it was _right there_ in front of you,” Gildor laughed.  “You saw it five times before!”

“Another one?” Erestor said softly, his voice tinged with something Glorfindel recognized as wistfulness.

“They are expecting?” Glorfindel asked for clarification.

“The healers all believe it will be a girl.  She is due in two months,” said Maedhros.

“We visited before we came here, and either that is one big baby, or she is having twins again,” commented Gildor.  “When they told us, though, several months before, they had us over for dinner. We came in and immediately I could tell, but Maedhros made it through most of dinner before he said ‘something is different’ and his parents burst out laughing.”

“Sure, laugh at me about it,” Maedhros grumbled.  “I was…” He sighed. “I just fail to notice these things sometimes.”

“Clearly, but I love you anyway.”  Gildor stretched so that he could kiss Maedhros on the lips.  On the way back down, he turned his head and said to the others, “It makes it really easy to hide presents from him in plain sight.”

“Have they chosen a name yet, or will that be a family secret?” Erestor asked.

“I think it remains to be seen if it is a boy or a girl,” answered Gildor.  

“Whatever my father comes up with will have ‘finwe’ in there somewhere,” said Maedhros with certainty.  “I am hoping for a girl. We do not need more boys in that part of the family.”

“Careful what you wish for,” cautioned Fingon.  “You have met Aredhel…”

Erestor drew up his knees after asking the question, and rested his head against them. Glorfindel saw but elected to give him a moment first. “I liked Aredhel,” Glorfindel noted. “Sometimes I think the real problem everyone had with her was that she had masculine tendencies. Though I wish she could have avoided harm in bygone days, I applauded her spunk.”

“No, it was not that,” countered Fingon.  “It was the constant running away. I appreciated the way she was in regard to…”  He scratched the back of his neck as Maedhros smirked at him. “I mean, it did help me downplay a few things.”

“It did seem like your parents had a hard time deciding whether they should tell her to take off the pants she was wearing or tell you to put them on,” Maedhros remarked.  Fingon shrugged. “I like Aredhel, too. She is my favorite sister-in-law. I just pity she has to put up with Celegorm, but I suppose there is someone for everyone.”

“Mmmhmm,” agreed Gildor as he wound a finger around an errant red lock that had escaped the bun.

“Ress?” Glorfindel scooted next to him, seeing that he had not moved.

The dark head raised. “Yes?”

“You alright?”

Erestor nodded, but slowly.

“I feel unconvinced,” Glorfindel told him, taking one of his hands and kissing each finger. “What is wrong?”

“Cupcake?” Fingon added.

Shrugging, Erestor looked down. “I do not want to be the wet blanket. It is really nothing.”

“You have to know by now that I cannot let that stand,” Glorfindel said kindly.

Erestor looked down again, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “It is stupid. I just miss children. And sometimes I miss that I have never had a child of my own blood in the ordinary manner for such things, because that is what happens when you are...like we are.” He sighed. “I have not forgotten the beautiful children I helped raised. I am trying not to complain. But sometimes it feels sad because this thing I felt I always wanted did not go quite--I cannot quite find the words I need. But, that.”

“Thank you for telling us,” Glorfindel told him, kissing him on the cheek.

Fingon looked down guiltily, but Maedhros addressed the issue of adoption.  “I know it feels like a hole that cannot be filled at times, but please do remember that the children you helped raise will always be your children.  I challenge anyone who argues that Maglor and I are not Elrond’s parents. That is my boy over there in that big house on the edge of the sea, and I will fight anyone who says otherwise.”

Gildor was sitting up now, and crawled over to join Erestor.  He placed his hand on Erestor’s shoulder. “I understand,” he said.  “I look around and I try to be excited when everyone else welcomes someone new to the family, but in the back of my mind I keep thinking, would I have made a good father?  Is there some… part of me I would have liked to have… passed along to the next generation? I would not give up my life and my love for a change that would allow that, but… I do think about it.”

Now Maedhros, having abandoned the grapes, joined them.  “Gildor, I had no idea you had these feelings,” he whispered.  Gildor only shrugged in response. “Baby, I am sorry, I wish you had talked to me about this,” said Maedhros as he nuzzled Gildor’s neck.

“Feeling this way will pass,” Erestor said. “I understand what you said about those we adopted, Maedhros. This is not that, but rather something not rational; I logically know all those things about the little ones I raised. This is something different. Perhaps more selfish, perhaps more of an instinctual desire made poignant because it is denied to me. It is what Gildor said. And yet he is correct; I could not give up who I am in order to have that. I tried that for thousands of years and what a disaster it was, for both myself and Glorfindel.”

“Snuggles.  We need snuggles,” decided Gildor, and he leaned closer to Erestor to offer comfort, while Maedhros rubbed Gildor’s back.  Only now did Fingon stand up, pick up the wine bottle, and retreat to the far corner of the roof where he looked out over the expanse below.  

Maedhros studied Fingon for a few moments before he coaxed Gildor to be closer to Erestor.  “I will be back,” he said softly as he walked to join Fingon.

Glorfindel watched all of this and felt uncertain what to do. Staying to snuggle with Erestor and Gildor frankly seemed entirely appealing. At the same time, he felt like Maedhros was going in to run interference for his husband. Indecision argued back and forth in his mind. Trying to clear his thoughts, he breathed in slowly and deliberately a few times, relaxing his body. His gut instinct was to let Maedhros talk to Fingon; that whatever was the matter Maedhros probably had the better chance at extracting it. At least, he would allow the opportunity. Closing his eyes, he leaned into Erestor and at the same time, curled his fingers around Gildor’s forearm.

Once Maedhros was standing shoulder to shoulder with Fingon, he asked in a low cheerful voice, “What the fuck is your problem now?”

Fingon grunted.  “Everyone up here talks about not being able to have children, whereas I did.  I had… well, maybe one, maybe three, no one is ever really going to know which ones are mine, right?  But I know Ereinion is. And to me, they all are. And look at me -- here I am, there they are across the sea,” he said with a motion of his hand.  “How often do I see my grandchildren? Not often enough. Have they ever been here? No… not a single time since I got here.”

“You should spend more time with them, and you should write to them more instead of spending that time answering letters from random people you have never met,” advised Maedhros, “but if you make this evening all about you, I am going punch you in the face with no remorse whatsoever.”  Maedhros turned his head and called out, “We are going to go and get more wine!”

“We have--”  Fingon frowned when Maedhros purposely knocked the open bottle off the roof and into the bushes below.  “I hope you intend to clean that up.”

“I said wine, not whine,” Maedhros hissed as he placed his hand quite firmly at the base of Fingon’s neck and directed him to the stairs.  This left the other three alone on the rooftop again.

“Do I want to know what just happened over there?” Erestor asked, observing their departure.

“No.” Glorfindel gently grasped Erestor’s jaw and turned his head in to kiss him on the lips. “No you do not. You are under command only to snuggle with us.”

“I am?” Erestor mused, clearly entertained by their solicitude.

“You are,” Gildor echoed, nuzzling the side of Erestor’s head. “It has been a long time since I did this, Erestor. If I am to be brutally honest, I missed this in my determination to be an asshole. You were always very snuggleable. I want to say it was this hair of yours. So soft and shiny, and that fabulous color. I may not admit to it later but I thought your hair was just as glorious as mine. I hope you know that that is saying a lot.”

Glorfindel laughed openly while Erestor blinked. “Only you, Gildor. And the sad thing is, I cannot even argue with that. Do you remember Ress, in Rivendell, the night we bonded? I mean, I know you remember, but what you might not know is that one of my most treasured memories is from before we got to the bedroom, and how I brushed your hair. He is right. Your hair is…” Glorfindel sighed, and instead of finishing his sentence took several locks of it to rub against his face.

While the cuddling continued on the roof, the bitching and moaning began in the basement.  “It is so hot, none of this wine is properly chilled anymore,” complained Fingon as he replaced a bottle on the shelf he had pulled it from.

“What about this one?” asked Maedhros, attempting to be accomodating.  

“That is pear wine,” Fingon said bitterly.

“What is wrong with pear wine?” Maedhros asked.

“I do not like it,” answered Fingon as he meandered around the other shelves to see what else he might find.  “Uhhhkk!”

“What?”

Fingon waved his arm over his head.  “Cobwebs,” he clarified.

Maedhros rolled his eyes and set the pear wine down.  He came around and pulled down the offending strands. As he brushed them from his arm he questioned, “Are you a king or a princess?”

“Maybe both,” Fingon shot back with his hands on his hips.  Maedhros chuckled. “One should have the reasonable expectation that one will not encounter this in their home.”

“It is a basement,” countered Maedhros as he selected another bottle from the rack.  “What about this?”

“There is no label,” pointed out Fingon.

“I know.  It makes it interesting,” Maedhros said.

“If you had not broken the bottle we had--”

“If you were not such an arrogant little bitch--”

Fingon pointed a finger at Maedhros’ face, directly at his nose.  “Fuck you,” he spat. “I am not going to listen to this,” he said, but he turned and found more cobwebs in his path.  When he turned back, Maedhros caught his arm. “Let me go!” The ensuing struggle ended with Fingon on the ground, and Maedhros sitting upon him.  Now with the dirt of the floor against his back and arms, Fingon struggled and panicked. “Please, Maedhros, let me up! I do not want to be down here!”

“I will.  Once you shut up and listen.”  Maedhros placed his finger against Fingon’s lips before he could speak and added, “It is in your best interest to be silent and listen to me, because I am sure that those spiders that make those webs are crawling around here, and you do not want to be here when they come over to see what tore down their work.”  Fingon set his jaw, but still he squirmed, more now at the thought of spiders. “I do not care if I have a shit time here, but I care a great deal about Gildor. I want Gildor to have a wonderful time. He works hard; harder than I do. Do you know what he does? Just shake your head yes or no,” he said, and Fingon shook his head ‘no’.  “He sells all of the things that my brothers and father and I make. He spends several days in a row at festivals and markets, sleeping in his wagon with his dogs and his oversized rodent, so that the rest of us can stay in the comforts of our homes working on our crafts. He takes care of me, and this is the brief time I have to take care of him.  Please do not fuck this up for me.”

Fingon’s body relaxed and his expression was one of guilt.  “I am sorry.”

“Do not say it.  Show it.” Maedhros moved off of Fingon and held out his hand so help Fingon up.  He kept hold of Fingon’s hand as he looked down between them. “Do this for me, and I promise not to tell your husbands you had an erection from being knocked down into the dirt.”

“It was… this…”  Fingon blushed as he fought to explain away the way his garment tented in front of him.  “Just go find your wine,” he grumbled as he pulled his hand away.

“I will. But not before this.” Maedhros pulled him into a close hug, maneuvering so that their hips did not meet out of consideration for Fingon’s sensibilities. “I wish you could let go of whatever this is that makes you feel so hostile. If I have caused it, I wish you could tell me. I have changed, Fingon. Or at least, I have tried to. I still care about you.” A rough kiss was bestowed to Fingon’s cheek and he was quickly released. “I can find my way back upstairs after I get the wine, if that is what you prefer.”

Fingon swallowed hard and wound an arm around one of the racks.  He leaned his cheek against it and said, “Even if I wanted to leave, I do not think I can make the steps in my present state.”  The peak was more pronounced now, having grown from the contact with Maedhros.

“Then take care of it,” Maedhros suggested. “I can remain here, with my back to you and a promise not to turn around until you tell me I may. I can encourage you to untie your garment, freeing yourself. To consider those two absolutely beautiful men upstairs to whom you are joined, to lightly touch the edges of your ears, and to feel a chill of pleasure run through your frame.” Maedhros paused for a moment, to listen carefully. He thought he detected that his efforts to help in his own strange way might be succeeding.

There was lengthy silence, and Maedhros tended to the wine bottles again.  “I… I cannot,” whispered Fingon. Maedhros turned around, head tilted, and now he noticed that Fingon was even more painfully erect.  “I cannot… touch it,” he said, voice hinting at disgust.

“Oh, sweetheart,” said Maedhros.  “Neither can I.” He gave an apologetic smile.  “Do you want me to fetch one of your--”

“No,” said Fingon firmly.  “I do not want them knowing about this.”

“Fair enough.  Ridiculous, but your decision.”  Maedhros tucked a total of three wine bottles under his arm.  “Do you want me to stay here with you?” Fingon shook his head.  “Are you sure?” prodded Maedhros. Fingon nodded. Maedhros shrugged and took his leave, heading up the stairs.

Fingon groaned unhappily as he looked down past his waist.  “Why must you be so needy?” he demanded. The cloth covering his lower half seemed to twitch, and he closed his eyes with another little groan.  There he stood for another few minutes, until he lifted his head when he heard someone on the stairs.

It was Maedhros, and he had a bucket in his hand, as well as a pair of towels draped over his shoulder.  “How are things going? Did you find a spider to help you out?”

Fingon glared momentarily, then sighed.  “No. Just as miserable as when--” His words were cut off with a shriek as cold water hit him square in the face and swept down his body.

“I have another bucket ready upstairs if that did not do the trick,” offered Maedhros.

Fingon shivered slightly.  He was drenched and cold, but to his relief, he was no longer hard.  “Th-thank you,” he said meekly.

“Do not be anxious, Fin. There is nothing strange, shameful or wrong. You are beautiful,” Maedhros soothed, wrapping a soft towel around his shoulders, and offering a second one for further down. While Fingon dried his lower half, Maedhros carefully blotted at his arms and torso. “Leave the cloth on. You can tell them you wetted it on account of the warmth, to feel cooler. And it will...help.”

“Thank you.”  Fingon patted his legs dry and hung the towel around his neck.  “You know I probably would have preferred to be a princess over a king,” he said once they were on their way back upstairs.

“I know, honey.”  Maedhros shut the door to the basement behind them and paused with Fingon on the landing.  “Do you ever talk to them about these things, or do you plan to do what you did with me? Hold it all in, and then just explode one day with all of these random things about yourself that I could have listened to ages before, that I could have helped you with if you had let me?  Or do you keep all of that locked up here,” he said as he tapped Fingon’s forehead gently. Fingon looked away, eyes glistening. “I thought so. You have to do what you think is best, but we should learn from history, right? And we both know that it worked so well the first time.”

Fingon sighed.  “I tell them… some things.  As needed. Some of it is… irrelevant.”

Maedhros said no more, feeling that his point had been made for the moment and not wishing to risk descent into another argument. Instead he sighed with a look of sadness on his face, and shook his head, none of which Fingon perceived. “Would you feel more comfortable having glasses for drinking? We are right here.”

“We already all drank from the other bottle,” Fingon reminded him.  “I do not think it matters now.” He held his breath and then blurted out, “Unless someone had oral sex with someone else up there, or before going up there, and it was still possibly in their mouth, and then, yes, I think glasses would be a good idea.”  He sucked in a breath and waited.

“Well if that happened, Gildor was not party to it,” Maedhros said with finality. “So we will bring a glass for you, and should your spouses have been passing the time in that manner you will have a full glass from a clean bottle before it is passed around.” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed one from the kitchen.

Fingon remained rooted in place while Maedhros retrieved the glass.  “Am I difficult?” he finally asked, the question floating in his mind for some time.  “Honestly.”

“Yes,” Maedhros answered, saying that and nothing more.

Fingon wanted to respond with ‘you would say that’, but instead he slid two of the bottles away from Maedhros so that he was not resigned to carrying everything back upstairs.  “We should go back up before they send a search party,” he said.

“Please lead the way,” his companion said in soft tones.

Back up to the roof they went.  Now the stars could be seen against the darkening sky, and the moon glowed down upon them.  Right where they had been, the three who had remained were now snuggled together, sleeping peacefully as the breeze ruffled their hair and a butterfly lazily fluttered about until it landed on Gildor’s knee.

“Good thing he is asleep, or he would want to adopt it,” whispered Maedhros of the insect.

“The temperature is still dropping,” said Fingon as he set the bottles carefully on one of the tables.  “I do not want to wake them,” he added as he stayed at the edge of the roof and spoke quietly.

“They will be fine.” Maedhros indicated the three sleeping ellyn with a nod of his head. “It is you that are concerned with warmth. There is a folded blanket over there still. Shall I go retrieve another?”

Fingon sat down on a chair and motioned that Maedhros should sit with him if he so chose.  “This will dry soon enough,” he said with a wave at the cloth wrapped around him. “I can use that if I feel the need.”

“Very well,” Maedhros said, opening the first bottle and offering it to Fingon. He took a moment to retrieve said blanket, arrange cushions for both of them and settle himself before he spoke. “Are you happy?” he asked. “I was glad for you, you know, when the news got around the family that you had crossed the bridge with each other.”

“Thank you.”  Fingon drank from the bottle before he leaned down to hand it back.  “I am still adjusting, I think.”

“How so? If, that is, you are willing to discuss it.”

Fingon rubbed his chin and looked off the rooftop.  After a moment of thought, he slid down from his chair to join Maedhros on the ground, which proved to be more comfortable than it looked. He laid down on his back, hands folded over his chest.  “I never wanted to be alone forever, but I got used to it. Now I am not just ‘me’, I am part of this thing that I struggle to understand.”

“‘This thing.’ Do you mean your relationship with them?” Maedhros coaxed, taking a pull on the bottle.

Fingon ran his hands over his hair.  “I do not know what I mean. If I knew what I meant, if it was… just the relationship, or just the sex, or just something, then I could analyze it and figure it out and fix it.”

“I see,” Maedhros said, offering Fingon the bottle of wine. “That does complicate it a little. Here, I will try to ask it differently. For a moment, excise all thought of sex from the discussion. Does the connection you have with them please you, or do you find that it is confusing now that you are bonded and share their thoughts? Or does it lie outside of that?”

“The connection scares the fuck out of me.”  Fingon sat up and took the bottle and nursed it a little before he handed it back.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothing is private anymore, at least, I have no idea what is and what is not.  They could be in there right now and I would never know. Maybe they go in there when I am asleep. Can they do that? Do you do that with Gildor?”

Maedhros was very quiet, but set down the bottle so that he could stroke Fingon’s face.  “Sweetheart, first, breathe. Now, I have never done that to Gildor, and I know without asking him that he has never tried that with me.  Do you know why? Because we trust and love each other. Obviously, I would not want to speak for someone else, but I do not think you have anything to concern yourself over with your husbands.  I am not even sure if it is possible to break through during dreaming.”

“I guess,” replied Fingon, not sounding entirely convinced.  “I mean, I just think… well, I do not understand it very well,” he said.  “I know that you and Maglor and your brothers could all talk to each other, and parents and children can, and… what is wrong with me that I could not do any of that?” he blurted out.  “And now, I have no control of it. It just happens. I have no idea how to really start and stop it, and sometimes, one or both of them are just, there. Just there.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his face.  “It makes me feel so broken and inferior.”

“Oh, Fin.” Maedhros pulled him close for comfort. “You are neither of those things. Your gifts in that area are different than what many have. In time, they can help you to learn. What worries me more is that you feel this way and have not expressed it to them. From what I see, both of them would learn to do a backflip if it would help you in some way. What are you trying to achieve by keeping your silence? Or do I already know the answer, sweetie? Are you trying to be that strong, invulnerable man for them, the one that has no flaws or weaknesses?”

Fingon’s chin trembled, and he looked away.  “I just want them… I want them to be happy. They should not have to -- I should be able -- I can get through this on my own.  It just takes time.”

“Honey. Baby. If you can hear nothing else I say to you, I beg you to reconsider that. You heard it, I am using the word ‘beg.’ They love you, not some image of you that you have in your mind. Love is based on sharing. Openness. Trust. Other foundations crumble away, because they are not real. They want you to be happy, too.” Maedhros turned and lowered his head to kiss Fingon’s cheek. “At least think about my words? Please?” More kisses followed, some to his forehead, others to his cheek. Maedhros’ arm reached around to massage at the tense muscles of his shoulders. “Pretty please?”

The words Maedhros said were considered, and thoughts of what had transpired in the days prior replayed in Fingon’s head.  He responded not to Maedhros’ plea, but to the memories in his mind. “I almost ran away the other day,” he admitted, his voice a series of little squeaks, and a few tears escaped before he could tame them.  “I still do not know why. I just did it. I just got on a horse and rode and rode. I wanted to keep going, and I do not even know why.”

“I am no expert, but it sounds to me as though you are overwhelmed and unable to admit that even to yourself,” Maedhros posited gently.

Fingon sniffled slightly.  “Please do not tell them what I just told you,” he said softly.  “I came back. That is the part that matters, right?”

“I will not break your confidence, though a part of me wishes I could for your own good. You need someone to talk to, and if it cannot be your mates then it falls to me. But at risk of gaining your ire towards me, I will tell you plainly that you need assistance, Fin. This is not healthy, this is not bringing you the happiness you deserve. I am worried about you; that is all I will say. The only other thing you will get out of me is snuggles.” Another soft kiss was bestowed.

The revelation made seemed to have drained whatever will Fingon might have had to fight against Maedhros’ suggestions.  Instead, he simply nodded and snuggled closer, for the breeze was now cooler and delivered a chill to those on the roof.  The cloth around Fingon’s waist was dry, but between his struggle in the basement and moving around on the roof, it was now only loosely draped over him and he pulled at it to try to cover his feet. Maedhros saw, and clumsily shook out and spread the blanket as best he could with his left hand. He ensured it tucked under Fingon’s feet. With surprising elegance he slid his body down, twining warm legs and feet with the cold ones he encountered. Another few deliberate motions had Fingon partially on the cushions, partially on Maedhros’ body where he was held securely. “I hope this is warm enough for you. Rest, Fin. I will watch over you. Rest and remind yourself how loved you are.”

  
  
  



	6. Day Six

  
  


####  Day Six Morning

“I want to get up, but I also do not want to get up.”

“So… do not get up.”

“I should get up.”

“So get up.”

Fingon let out a long, sleepy groan, stretched, and collapsed again atop the warm body beneath him.  “Just five more minutes,” he mumbled against the warm skin.

“That should be fine.”

Not too far away, Gildor was leaning against the stone wall that kept visitors to the roof from falling off.  He was shoulder to shoulder with Glorfindel, who currently held the pipe he and Gildor had been smoking. Erestor was sitting in Glorfindel’s lap, lazily shuffling the deck of cards he brought with him but had used very little.  “I should have had the forethought to bring something up here so that we could have breakfast,” Glorfindel said. He passed the pipe back to Gildor and pulled Erestor closer to him, nuzzling his hair. 

After ten minutes had passed, Maedhros nudged Fingon’s shoulder.  “Did you still intend to get up before noon?”

“Mmmmhhh.”

“Do you need a few more minutes?  Eventually I need to go relieve myself,” Maedhros said softly.

“You know, if that was me, he would have shoved me off by now,” Gildor said to Glorfindel as he offered the pipe to Erestor, who shook his head.

“That is because he could kick my ass,” Maedhros called back.  

“Fair point,” agreed Gildor.  “Besides, he is awfully cute when he sleeps.”  Fingon was nestled atop Maedhros, and had his own hair acting as a shield to the sunlight that invited him to rise.  He also had a hand fisted in the blanket draped over them, and had his eyes squeezed shut in defiance of the sun.

“I doubt he does it now, but he used to chew on his hair or suck on his thumb in his sleep,” Maedhros shared.

“Not supposed to tell anyone that,” came a sleepy admonishment.

“I just want to smuggle him back with us,” declared Gildor.  

“Mine,” Erestor said firmly as he dealt out a game of solitaire.  

Glorfindel nipped Erestor’s shoulder.  “Ours,” he purred possessively. 

Erestor turned his head and bit at Glorfindel’s bottom lip before kissing him.  “What is mine is yours.”

“Oh… good point,” said Glorfindel. 

Sitting up, Fingon opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows, looking immeasurably pleased. He could not help it if he snuck a glance at Maedhros, even with the silly grin that now was on his face. “They are actually fighting over me,” he murmured half to himself, before shaking his head.

“I know.  Ew. Why would they do that?” questioned Maedhros.

“Jerk,” replied Fingon as he settled back down again, but not before gently socking Maedhros in the shoulder.

“Five more minutes?” guessed Maedhros.

“At least,” came the muffled voice of Fingon. “Feels nice, you know.” The words were said quietly, and only for Maedhros’ ears--even though he had no intention of hiding anything from his mates.

“What feels nice?” murmured an amused Maedhros. “You lying in my arms, or that anyone would fight over you?”

“If you must know, both,” Fingon sighed, seeking to choose better words. “It was painful to finally realize that you were not truly the one for me. Maybe you experienced something similar? Or not. It was also hard to feel like all my years with you had meant nothing at all. I never really could believe that, even when I was very angry and wanted to tell myself something to justify my state of mind. We were not suited to each other as lovers, but it does not change that I loved you in what ways I could. I was unhappy, telling myself that I hated you.” His hands found a purchase against Maedhros’ ribs; a curled finger pressed comfortingly against his lips. “Maybe just this was all I ever wanted. I am still learning, about love.”

“I guess if you stop trying to bring buildings down on me, we could be friends again.”  Maedhros did not wait for an answer before he called out to whomever would listen, “Have you ever tried this technique before?” and then in a very practiced manner utilized three fingers simultaneously to caress the inside and outside of Fingon’s ear at the same time.

“No fair,” countered Fingon with a gasp as he turned away.  “You are not supposed to show them all of my weaknesses.”

“No?  So, no doing this?” Maedhros asked as he now manipulated Fingon’s other ear while managing to massage his neck at the same time.  

Fingon turned his head the other way.  “Leave them something to discover on their own,” he mumbled.  He stretched before he settled down comfortably again. After a few moments, he arched up and glared down at Maedhros.  “What is THAT?” he demanded, and his gaze shifted downward between them.

“Your wake-up call,” came the mischievous answer.

“I am regifting it,” Fingon said pointedly as he shook off the blanket and freed himself of the cuddle they had been engaged in. Before rising, he paused for just a moment. “No more buildings. I give you my word.” Swiftly, he placed a kiss on Maedhros’ brow before calling out in a much louder voice. “Gildor!  Maedhros has something for you!”

“I am on it,” Gildor said enthusiastically as he handed the pipe back to Glorfindel.  “ON it. Get it?” He winked.

“We got it the first time, Gildor,” Erestor assured him as he played his game. 

Fingon turned his back to the immediately unfolding carnal display after rejoining Erestor, who stopped his pastime in order to supply the cuddling Fingon so obviously desired.  _ I feel a little confused, Eressë. I am trying to be honest with myself and others but...nothing is more important to me than my vows to you and Fin.  _ Worry crept into his mental tone.   _ I never meant to be deceptive, but every time the two of you say ‘just the three of us’, I avoid conversation because… well… how can I tell you what I feel without it sounding adulterous?  _

Nuzzling his face, Erestor held him tighter.  _ Love, you are not the first one to need to find a place in your mind and heart for someone for whom you once felt a far greater love. Though I never bonded with Artanis, the intense feelings were still there. I made a far greater mess over a far greater span of time trying to sort that out. Of course you still love Maedhros. I still love Artanis. Just not like I do you, or Fin. You were the one who told me once that there are not rankings of love, or...something like that. Do not fear that I will be jealous. I believe in your love for me, and am still so grateful to have it. I think I speak for Fin as well, though perhaps I should not. Fin?  _

Glorfindel, who had covertly been attempting to watch the scene unfolding near to them without directly watching, suddenly turned his head.   _ What? Uhm. Do you think they want privacy? _ His gaze slid sideways to take in the view of Maedhros propped up slightly on his elbows, eyelids droopy, while Gildor, straddling him, kissed a path up Maedhros’ chest while one unseen hand obviously worked to make Maedhros’ erection stiffer than it was from the way his arm and shoulder moved.

Gildor, oblivious to whatever conversation was being had, gracefully rose up and slowly looked down at his work, which was now displayed for all to see.  “My, my, what a big cock you have,” he purred.

“All the better to fuck you with,” answered Maedhros.

_ They are not going to stop whether we are here or not.   _ Fingon knew fleeting images from long ago were crossing his mind, so he focused on one so that they did not all flood at his mates at once -- and to keep the current questions at a minimum.   _ He once gave me a handjob when we were cuddled under a blanket in his family’s living room with the rest of his family listening to Maglor playing his harp.   _ The rosy tint of his cheeks was only half-hidden when he tried to bury his face against Erestor’s shoulder.

This immediately attracted Glorfindel’s interest, though he could not help but admire the visuals of Maedhros’ assets.  _ That is about the sweetest thing I ever heard, and I want to hear more about that at some point.  _ Glorfindel smiled, kissing and snuggling with Fingon.  _ Now I am wondering if I should ask what would be most comfortable for you, because unfortunately sex is a lot like the common cold. If you lack immunity and are too close to a source of infection, it kind of ends up being contagious.  _ His own cheeks reddened a little at the obvious swelling of his groin.  _ What can I say? I am nothing if not predictable. _

_ Here?  Now?  _ Fingon was about to open his mouth to protest, but what unexpectedly left his throat was a low moan that gained attention from the pair nearby.

“Sorry,” drawled Erestor, who was using the technique on Fingon’s ear and neck he had seen Maedhros demonstrate.  “Should we… stop?” he whispered, lips brushing the sensitive flesh he had just manipulated.

Glorfindel took his cue, reached around Fingon’s shoulder, and tried the other suggestion Maedhros had made to them.  “We should… probably stop,” muttered Glorfindel as Fingon lifted his hand and bit down on his fist to muffle himself.

“It is so hard to decide if I like it better when I hear him, or just watching this,” said Gildor to Maedhros.  They had slowed their movements slightly, Gildor peering over enviously at the sudden erection that Fingon now had. 

Maedhros called out to be sure he was clearly heard, “You should blindfold him!  He used to love it when I covered his eyes, at least.”

This new tidbit made Erestor curious.  Still nuzzled close to Fingon, Erestor nipped at Fingon’s lobe and whispered, “A blindfold?  Should Fin go retrieve one of those for you?” He further teased Fingon by tracing his tongue all the way around Fingon’s ear while he rubbed the back of his neck.

Fingon tilted his head back, eyes closed, hips pumping forward.  A moment later, he bit even harder into his hand, muffling a whimper and a few grunts before he slumped back against the wall, eyes still closed.  He moved his hands further from his body, fingers splayed on the top of the roof to steady himself, so that the sticky discharge sliding back around his thighs did not touch his fingers.

“Holy.  Shit.” Gildor carefully stood up and stepped over Maedhros so that he could take a few steps closer to observe.  “Maedhros told me you could do that without being stroked, but shit. That was impressive. Like the fucking fountain of Ecthelion.”  Gildor looked over his shoulder at Maedhros. “I want to be able to do that.”

“Good luck,” answered Maedhros.  He crooked a finger, but it was unseen, as Gildor returned to gawking.  “Come on, Gildor, I could use a ‘hand’ here.”

Everyone else on the roof gave each other slightly uncertain looks with wide eyes.

“Yes, it was a joke, at my own expense--get your ass back over here, Gildor!” called out Maedhros.

“Go,” Glorfindel told Gildor firmly but with no edge of hostility in his voice. He had known Gildor a very long time; anything shiny and attractive mesmerized the handsome ellon. But leering at Fingon’s diminishing erection at the expense of Maedhros could not result in anything positive. A wave of Glorfindel’s hand emphasized his words, causing Gildor to return to some sense of awareness--and his lover.

Maedhros pulled Gildor down onto his knees as soon as the blond was within grasp.  “Naughty, naughty,” he scolded as he pressed his other arm against Gildor’s back. This effectively caused Gildor to be bent over Maedhros’ lap with a playful ‘oof!’.  Instead of swatting Gildor’s rear, as it appeared Maedhros was ready to do, he leaned down and bite and sucked on the globes of flesh, making several red and purple marks on Gildor’s fair skin, while Gildor writhed and groaned, and humped against whatever he could.  When Gildor attempted to reach between his own legs, Maedhros pulled Gildor’s arms around to pin them against his back before he continued his fun.

“Not fair,” Gildor breathed, groaning but submitting to Maedhros while Erestor watched in fascination. The dark one caressed and gave soft kisses to Fingon’s skin, but was unquestionably aroused to see the display of dominance from Maedhros. Out of habit he tried to keep his hips turned a little away from Fingon, for fear of overwhelming him with too many sexual displays. Glorfindel, however, displayed a sultry and meaningful gaze that brought an involuntary moan from Erestor.

“You should have let me bring the bag of toys up here,” Maedhros told Gildor as he placed kisses over the bruises he created.  “You could have had a nice, firm spanking with the paddle.”

“I just want a nice, firm cock up my ass,” groaned Gildor.

“So impatient.” With his hand still pinning Gildor’s arms, Maedhros smoothed his right arm back and forth over Gildor’s rear.  Maedhros looked over at the trio and focused on Glorfindel. “Care to make a little wager?” he asked with a gleam in his eyes. “We already know that Fingon always wins, as we just saw.  Care to compete for second place? I bet I can make Gildor come before you can get Erestor off.”

Glorfindel blinked at Maedhros, and bit his lip. Fingon was still breathing heavily with his eyes closed and apparently had little intention of weighing in on the matter. However, he did send them a mental aura of not objecting, should they wish to. Next, his eyes moved to Erestor, who simply nodded. “Loser harvests today’s vegetables,” Erestor offered, knowing that if he had to, he could take on much of that work by scooting along on his rear--as long as he had a little help.

“Deal,” Maedhros agreed immediately.

“I am exempt, right?  As the winner?” Only now did Fingon speak up, opening one eye.  “From the vegetables.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” said Erestor.  “Gildor, do you agree to our terms?”

“As long as Fin agrees,” Gildor called back when Maedhros released his arms so that he could giddily position himself on his hands and knees.

“Why not,” muttered Glorfindel under his breath while nodding to Gildor, and inviting Erestor nearer and offering him a choice of positions. To his mild surprise, Erestor chose to lie on his back before him, raising his knees to offer himself. Then it occurred to Glorfindel that there was a method to this unanticipated selection; easy and unfettered access to Erestor’s nipples. With a wink there was no possibility of Gildor or Maedhros seeing, Erestor gestured for Glorfindel to indulge himself.

“Problem,” said Maedhros as he looked around after moving behind Gildor.  “No lubrication.”

“Ah, solution: We do not need any,” Gildor said.  He gave a wiggle of his ass. 

“That is not going to be your song an hour from now,” warned Maedhros as he spit into his hand.  He began to finger Gildor’s passage, and added more saliva as he pressed not one, but two fingers in.

Fingon nudged Glorfindel with his toes, and as soon as he had the blond’s attention, he covertly pointed at the small puddle that had slid off of his leg, and then the rest of the slick discharge on his belly.

Grinning, Glorfindel helped himself to the more-than-adequate supply. First he coated Erestor’s entrance, then himself. Smugly, he noted that Maedhros was still working on all of that while he slowly and carefully slid into Erestor’s body before their makeshift lubricant could dry, whereupon he could get on to the true business at hand--slowly and sensuously exchanging luxurious kisses that fueled both their arousal. Glorfindel guessed that Gildor and Maedhros would only pursue the roughest of movements in their hurry to reach the finish line. The moment he felt Erestor’s legs comfortingly encircle his lower back, all he could think about was their lovemaking, and his happiness to have been blessed by physical delight with his mate so many times. The first roll of his hips into Erestor’s sensitive spot brought forth a moan of greatest pleasure that resonated into Glorindel’s mouth. “Mmmm, you like that?” Glorfindel whispered seductively, nipping and kissing at Erestor’s lower lip.

“Do it again, baby,” pleaded Erestor.  He reached around and pulled his own rear cheeks wider apart.  “Give me more.”

“Damn, are they actually--”

“Gildor, oww… Gildor, stop that!”

“Sorry, I… gahh.”  Gildor fell forward off-balance as Maedhros attempted to readjust to Gildor’s sudden need to stretch and see what was going on, yet failed.  Maedhros barely managed to keep his footing. “I did not think they were going to do it. I want to watch.”

“You are going to lose,” Maedhros said more as a reminder.

“Worth it.  Also, I lied, we need lubricant.”  Gildor walked as close as he dared and sat down on the nearest spread out blanket.  Maedhros joined him and pulled him into his lap, where they stroked and caressed and kissed while observing. 

Glorfindel paid them no mind, instead concentrating on his every motion pleasing Erestor more than the last. Not particularly wanting scraped knees or to aggravate Erestor’s own healing injury, he kept his movements slower; none of their commonly seen pounding into each other. From time to time he kissed his way down Erestor’s neck and chest in time to his stimulation. This alternated with gently biting at and sometimes suckling the small but rosy nipples, but not too much. Fingon warned him in thought not to give Erestor’s secret away if it could be helped. Who knew, it could come in handy at some later time. The moans and cries beneath him grew in volume as Erestor’s passion rose and Glorfindel worshipped the perfect flesh beneath him.

Kneading his own thighs now with pent-up energy, Fingon cleared his throat.  Once Maedhros and Gildor were looking at him, Fingon hurriedly asked, “Have you forfeit, then?”

“I did,” said Gildor.  “I mean, maybe we could still win like this,” he recognized as he looked over his shoulder at Maedhros.

Fingon’s right leg was shaking and his pupils were dilated.  He licked his lips, and after another glance at his spouses, looked back at their ex-lovers.  “But for all intents and purposes, the contest part is done now, yes?”

“Well, that depends.  Perhaps we could wager--”

But Maedhros, who saw Fingon’s renewed erection, was breathing harder, and slapped his hand over Gildor’s mouth.  “Go. Join them. We forfeit.”

Fingon swallowed hard as another past memory flitted through his mind, but then he practically pounced on his partners as he joined them.  At first, he was uncertain where to begin, but Erestor whispered his name, and Fingon scrambled around to crouch behind Erestor so he could lean over and sneak in to kiss Erestor before he sat back up and kissed Glorfindel.

While Glorfindel and Fingon kissed above Erestor, Erestor thought through what to suggest so that Fingon was both included and comfortable with the situation.  “Káno. Idea,” he said once Glorfindel and Fingon paused. In their minds, Erestor conjured up his thought, and after a slight blush, Fingon nodded and changed his position.  Turning around, Fingon took a deep breath, and then threaded himself between Erestor and Glorfindel. He twisted his neck and torso so that he could continue to kiss Glorfindel.  Meanwhile, Erestor’s tongue flicked at the tip of the impressive erection that was soon in his mouth.

“I want to spend every holiday here.”  Gildor and Maedhros had slowed their own exploration, placing much of their focus on what they were watching.  “You are required to give me a good fucking once this is over.”

“Noted,” said Maedhros.

Erestor continued to moan, beyond thrilled to have this opportunity to have Fingon in his mouth. He brought his lover in as deep as he could manage, but could also not manage for long: Fingon was very well-endowed. Still, Erestor had no intention of missing the enjoyment, and did the best that he could. If nothing else, it heightened his sense of gratification quite a lot.

Reminded of the idea of a blindfold, Glorfindel freed one hand to cover over Fingon’s eyes.  Almost immediately, Fingon’s pulse raced faster, and he began to buck his hips just slightly.  Now that Fingon’s movements obscured part of Erestor’s body, Glorfindel was able to use some sleight of hand tricks (ironically taught to him by Gildor) to pinch and twist Erestor’s nipples between the second knuckles of his fingers while it only appeared he had his hand resting on Erestor’s chest for balance.

“So the first time you fuck me today, just go right for it,” said Gildor.  “The second time, use the paddle, and I want to be tied up. I am very flexible about the third time.”

“Remember that we are going to have vegetables to harvest,” warned Maedhros.

Gildor briefly leaned to the side so that he could look at Maedhros.  “I am not above having sex in the middle of the garden.”

“Please?” Glorfindel pleaded with Fingon tentatively, not wishing to upset him. “Please, would you have me?” He removed his hand from Fingon’s eyes, so that he could see his lover’s response. “If not, it is--”

Brushing a hand affectionately over Erestor’s head, Fingon repositioned himself behind Glorfindel, using a combination of spit and what little remained on his torso by way of preparation. Though Glorfindel wondered a little to himself about the wisdom of this, his desire was too strong and any possible consequences faded to the background. Moving back hard, he pushed his body against the fingers that sought to lubricate his passage. While Glorfindel made efforts not to disconnect from his pleasuring of Erestor, his desire to have Fingon inside of him was pitched. “Love, I need you,” he cried out in want. “Please?”

Hesitating for only a moment, and trusting that Glorfindel knew his body better than he himself did, he pushed into Glorfindel, who trembled with enjoyment. “Yes,” Glorfindel whispered, feeling himself being filled. “Oh, Ress,” came a deep groan, as he almost did not know which husband to address.

“If that horse suddenly comes up here, I will throttle him,” warned Gildor, who was shushed by Maedhros.

“We do not need the horse when you will not stifle your commentary.”  Maedhros nipped Gildor’s jaw. “If I could puzzle out a way for us to both keep watching while you have my dick in your mouth to keep you quiet, we would be in that position already.”

For all his erotic passion, Glorfindel heard this and burst into laughter, helplessly caught between humor and his own lust. Fortunately he was able to focus his thoughts once again, which proved not overly challenging. The love and desire of his partners poured into him, and the laughter swiftly gave way to tears of joy. Tears, for the wonder of their love and the relief it provided from years of loneliness and abuse. Hands roamed everywhere, seeking to soothe, to touch, to share affection and reassurance. Somewhere in the middle of all this, he could feel his climax beginning to build in time to Fingon’s vigorous thrusting.

“Do you know what I think would be fun?” asked Maedhros, already breaking his own rule regarding conversation.  His hand traveled up and down Gildor’s chest as he bit harshly at Gildor’s shoulder. 

“Probably has to do with what I was just thinking about.”

Maedhros used his right arm to turn Gildor’s head to the side so that they could kiss.  “Oh, but I should not speak it aloud. I do not wish to embarass you.”

“You think that is going to embarrass me?” And flippantly, he looked back to the others, who were far more focused on their own pleasure than the nearby discussion.  “Erestor, I greatly desire to slap your cheek and then kiss you, you beautiful bastard.” The words were oddly affectionate. “You have no idea how aroused I am to see you on your back like that.”

“The answer is, really aroused,” piped up Maedhros.  “His erection is more for you at the moment than for me.  I think we should avoid the violence, but now I am fantasizing about the idea of you kissing Erestor while you are on your hands and knees, and me, behind you--”

“Oh, yes, I like this… we should do it,” Gildor decided, but Maedhros put an arm around him to keep him in place.

Maedhros’ hand came around to massage Gildor’s erection while he kept his other arm wrapped around Gildor’s chest to pin him in place.  “Shhh… I want to keep watching,” he crooned in Gildor’s ear. “Just talk through it. I know what I want to see you do first. I want you on your hands and knees first, and I would have you crawl your way over.”

“Mmm… or, you could plunge into me and we could walk over together,” suggested Gildor.  “I want the first kiss to be full on his mouth, but, no. I would tease at first. Near kisses, brushing my lips to his, until he finally loses control and reaches up to pull my head down so he can claim my mouth, his tongue hot and demanding.”

“Just at that moment, I would rake my fingernails down your back,” Maedhros said, his hand moving faster.  “Just how you like it.” Gildor moaned.

Whether by temptation or because it was already in his thought to do so, Glorfindel found himself acting out Maedhros’ words, now teasing Erestor with his ghosting lips while Fingon continued to command the movement of their bodies. He and Erestor rode along on waves of pleasure, holding off only for Fingon to climax with them. Glorfindel clenched against Fingon’s intrusions in order to hopefully add to his enjoyment, lamenting that he could not touch his lover’s sensitive ears without collapsing on top of Erestor. Erestor reached up from time to time with the same thought, but Fingon was simply at too much of a distance.

“Glorfindel might get jealous,” hissed Gildor, who was slightly more distracted now, eyes glazing over.  “He would grab a fistful of my hair and pull me back. It would be tempting to him -- both Erestor and I, with lips swollen by kisses, so close.  No one will remember who he kisses first, but we -- Erestor and I -- would both get our turn. Back and forth, tongues dancing betwixt the three of us.”

“Oh, but Fingon cannot be neglected,” chided Maedhros, who did notice the trouble Fingon’s mates had in reaching him as they would like.  “I would lean forward. You would love that; I would be in you so deep. I would not kiss him, though,” Maedhros said, as he now held Gildor’s shaft and rubbed the head with his thumb.  “I would simply… blow. At those ears.”

“He does have such lovely ears,” mumbled Gildor.

“I wish there was a feather up here,” Maedhros said, and he even looked over his shoulder on the chance there should be one there.  “I could show them another trick he likes.”

Unexpectedly, this caused a groan to issue from Fingon, who found himself unexpectedly falling victim to the sensual dialogue occurring between his friends. The element of fantasy pitched his level of arousal higher. The suggestive ideas coupled with the safety of only his lovers touching him in any way sent entirely new sensations coursing through him. However, Erestor had not finished puzzling out how he might still touch Fingon. “Fin,” he said softly, to gain Glorfindel’s attention, indicating his possible solution. With a brilliant smile, the blond nodded. Both of Erestor’s strong arms grasped Glorfindel’s shoulders, taking the weight of his upper body and offering a stable platform to support him. Now, Glorfindel could reach an arm behind him, though some rather athletic poses were involved. His fingers explored here and there, until finally they found their way to Fingon’s ears. 

“We love you, Káno,” a writhing Erestor told his husband. Fingon’s breathing now seemed reduced to panting and moaning.

“Not....fair…” Fingon managed to say. “Too much...too many....all the--”

The rest of his words suddenly became inaudible, as Erestor loudly yelled the ecstasy of his orgasm. If he had been able to notice that Gildor’s lips parted in astonishment, he likely would have found the sight amusing--not to mention Gildor’s clear envy concerning Erestor’s forceful ejaculation.

“Nice show, Uncle Eressë,” remarked Maedhros, a little stunned himself that he expressed his thoughts with the ancient title of affection for his old tutor.  “I did not expect you to be so… virile,” he settled on. Gildor, for his part, clapped politely.

Now that Fingon could be heard again, the others caught his words.  “Just too… too much.” He continued to move, his gleaming muscles a beautiful display of his athleticism for all of them to appreciate.  

Glorfindel had been determined not to climax last, or at least not to leave Fingon behind, but the repetitive thrusting as well as the delicious depth to which he was buried, and the way Fingon’s body caused him to meld into Erestor soon caused Glorfindel to lose the battle.  As Glorfindel gasped, he made one final attempt to bring Fingon with him, fingers fumbling to stroke Fingon’s ears, to no avail.

“Sorry,” muttered Fingon as he slid out of Glorfindel, still fully erect.  “I tried.”

Gildor’s eyes were glued to Fingon’s penis.  “Forget about kissing Erestor. I would rather--”

Maedhros’ hand firmly clamped over Gildor’s mouth.  “I will translate for him. He says you have excellent form, Fingon.”  Gildor huffed behind the hand and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Thank you, I guess?”  Fingon, still panting, rested down on his knees.  He swallowed and licked his lips. “As you can see, some things never change.”  He frowned to look down at his uncooperative erection.

“Oh… I would not be so sure of that,” said Maedhros, hand still covering Gildor’s mouth.  Only Gildor’s eyes were animated, and they darted about as it appeared he wished to add his own commentary.

Fingon looked up.  “What do you---” His words cut off as Erestor on his left licked his ear at the same time that Glorfindel, now on the right, nibbled from the tip around the curve of the other.  Fingon whimpered and reached a hand out to either side to steady himself.

Gildor pulled Maedhros hand to the side and said, “What we really need to take wagers on is how long Fingon can last if someone is licking his ears.”

A noise a great deal like ‘hmpff’ erupted from Erestor, who resumed his position, coaxing Fingon toward him and inviting him to take the role Glorfindel had just completed. Mercilessly tag-teaming Erestor’s careful attentions to Fingon’s ears, Glorfindel now licked at the back of Fingon’s knee, determined to offer little slices of the things Gildor had mentioned previously. Erestor licked, but not only the ear. Throat, jawline, collarbone, nipples, all were equal opportunity recipients of attention as Fingon groaned and sank lower towards Erestor. “Sweetheart, it does not matter to me whether you finish or not. I want to give you this enjoyment, this experience. I want the closeness to you, to know that I have had a chance to touch and caress you also. And if I am to be brutally honest, I would also greatly enjoy your unmatchable cock shoved up my--uhhhnnnnnnn” Erestor concluded rather inelegantly when it turned out no further speeches on his part were necessary.

“Mmmm. Perfect,” Glorfindel purred. Now he could reach anything and everything, and wasted no time touching all the things.

“We should make some toys for them,” Gildor whispered.

“Shhh,” shushed Maedhros.  “Did no one ever tell you it is rude to interrupt a show?”  He returned to massaging Gildor’s penis, now limp, until it was erect again.  “If you are a good boy, maybe you will be rewarded as soon as they finish.”

“And what if I am a bad boy,” drawled Gildor.

Maedhros leaned closer and bit Gildor’s neck.  “I am going to fuck you either way just as soon as they are done.  Your sass just determines the method I use.” 

“How bad do I have to be for…”  Gildor twisted so he could whisper to Maedhros.

A little chuckle followed.  “If you really want that, you can have it.”

Gildor groaned.

Fingon rolled his hips to move inside of Erestor, watching in disbelief as Erestor’s penis began hardening again. Quickly he looked away, choosing to focus only on the chocolate eyes gazing into his own, and the love written there. More nibbles and kisses and licks were bestowed. Fingon slowly relaxed once again and only focused on the pleasure of the sensations, and not whether they would bring him to orgasm. “I love you,” Erestor whispered again. “My body craves you because my heart bathes in your light. Every aspect of you is beautiful. Glorious. I--” Erestor found himself needing to pant for air as the ecstasy of his most sensitive place being slowly and relentlessly massaged overcame him. “Cannot...possibly...deserve…”

Now Glorfindel came around, knowing that Erestor could become very vulnerable in circumstances like this. While he trusted Maedhros to govern Gildor’s commentary, a sense of nervousness descended. “Ress,” he kissed the creamy skin of his cheek while a hand strayed to the back of Fingon’s neck to massage it. “You are loved just as much as you love in return. You deserve all this and more. Stay in the moment,” he encouraged, pausing for a moment to blow against Fingon’s ear. Up, down. A little lick, and another cool stream of air to follow. 

Erestor nodded and swallowed hard, realizing the truth of Glorfindel’s words. A soft kiss from Fingon emphasized the sentiment more. “You feel good, cupcake,” Fingon admitted. “So good. And Fin, you--uhnnnnnnnnnnnnn,” Fingon moaned, when the soft blowing turned into light nibbles. “That is...ohhhh,” came another drawn out groan. Erestor gasped at the noticeable further hardening of Fingon’s erection, and the involuntary quickening of his thrusts. “Ohhhh. Oh myyyyyyy. I did not think...SWEET ERU!!!” Fingon roared, now slamming into Erestor with abandon. Glorfindel could sense that Erestor was not far behind, and placed one hand covertly on Erestor’s chest. Deftly he trapped the rosy nipple between his knuckles, pinching and pulling hard while the other hand stroked Erestor’s penis just the way he preferred. A guttural cry rumbled from Erestor’s throat; Glorfindel removed his hands swiftly to keep out of Fingon’s way. Feeling somewhat proud of his efforts, he now sat back on his heels to admire Erestor’s body in the throes of passion. He had aided both of them successfully to the finish line, and now they were crossing it together. If Gildor had an even greater look of wide-eyed amazement to see Erestor’s seed fly further than it had the first time, well, that, too, was entirely gratifying.

Maedhros pushed Gildor up into a standing position.  “Pick your spot,” he said casually, and Gildor immediately began to walk around the rooftop, surveying the various possibilities, like a buyer of land would carefully scrutinize the area.  With a sudden ease that impressed Fingon, Gildor set a hand on the ledge and leaped up onto the edge of the barrier. He paced a short length and looked out over the woods behind the house.  “What about here?” asked Gildor.

“That looks too narrow for the both of us,” Maedhros remarked.

Gildor looked over his shoulder.  “I was thinking…” And he was now quite obviously sharing thoughts without verbalizing, and the corners of Maedhros’ mouth turned up.  “Of course, if you are scared…”

Maedhros fluidly stood up and crooked a finger at Gildor.  With the same grace he had getting onto the ledge, Gildor leaped down.  A pillow was retrieved, and Maedhros shook it out of the case. It was the case he really wanted, for he used it first to snap across Gildor’s rear, and then after a long and needful kiss, pushed Gildor up against the ledge.  Maedhros wrapped the fabric fully around Gildor’s throat and tightened just enough to have Gildor panting as they engaged in additional foreplay, touches and kisses, Gildor with his back to Maedhros’ torso, and Maedhros looming over Gildor, who was tall in his own right, but still lacked the height that Maedhros had.

Once Gildor was moaning and pressing back against Maedhros with insistent mewls of pleasure, Maedhros unwound the pillowcase and slapped Gildor’s ass.  With slightly  shakier legs, Gildor climbed up on the ledge, but this time he knelt first.  Maedhros draped the cloth over his right arm, then pulled GIldor’s head back by his hair to whisper something to him that made him moan and nod.  Gildor placed both of his arms behind his back, and Maedhros deftly used to the pillowcase to secure his wrists together. 

Now Maedhros kept a firm hold on the fabric as Gildor  carefully  stood up and tested his footing.  Instead of centering himself on the ledge, he opted to place his feet so that his toes were over the side, wiggling freely.  He nodded without turning around, and Maedhros knocked at one of Gildor’s knees to get his lover to spread his legs further apart.  Once Gildor did so, Maedhros gave a few tentative licks to Gildor’s cleft before he used both his mouth and his nose to tease at Gildor’s entrance.  Gildor cried out, back arched, chest heaving, and Maedhros tightened his fingers around the restraint.

Fingon’s eyes widened and instinctively he moved forward, arrested before he could leave by both Glorfindel and Erestor. “I know how it looks, love,” Erestor whispered. “But you have to trust them. They are in all probability into having sexcapades that make this look tame by comparison. Mae has good footing, and he would never allow Gildor to fall.”

“Gildor likes extremes,” Glorfindel growled, somewhat disapproving but fundamentally in agreement with Erestor. “Ask me how I know that. This is one reason why he and I were never meant to be. Adventure is one thing, but I was asked too many times to...ugh, I do not wish to dwell on that now. Let us just say that this is Classic Gildor and leave it at that. My heart is glad that he found his match. Truly. Because whatever I thought long ago, it was never going to be me.”

“Maedhros goes beyond adventure sometimes,” voiced Fingon.  He wanted to be closer in case something happened, though he recognized that should anything happen, he would almost have to be right on top of them to prevent a catastrophe.  “I just hope he knows what he is doing.” In his mind, for only his husbands to hear, he voiced the opinion of _ Cleaning up a broken wine bottle in the hedges is one thing.  Cleaning up broken Elves is entirely another. _

Maedhros switched to having his right arm act as a hook for the restraint, and was using his mouth and his fingers to prepare Gildor.  On the ledge, Gildor writhed little, needing to be cautious of his movements, and was exhibiting a great deal of control in this venture.  Gildor was rock hard, and the tip of his erection glistened, but was left untouched as Maedhros worked at his ass a little longer. 

A particularly arousing movement caused Gildor to jerk in such a manner that the restraint slid off of Maedhros’ wrist, but lightning reflexes allowed Maedhros to catch hold with his hand before tragedy could occur.  They gave a pause, and Maedhros checked to see if Gildor was alright. The scare caused Fingon to tense, and Maedhros untied the cloth, tossing it onto the rooftop. 

Now Maedhros and Gildor adjusted their positions, with Gildor crouched down, palms on the ledge.  Maedhros lifted first one of Gildor’s legs and then the other so that they rested over his shoulders, and then resumed his oral exploration of Gildor’s passage.

“Thank you,” Fingon whispered, waves of relief overcoming him. “Otherwise my next move was going to be to run down to that hedge to have a chance of catching Gildor if the worst happened.”

“Cannot fathom how that is comfortable,” Glorfindel muttered softly. “I mean, I can take it rough just fine but I have to be able to relax a little. However, on the theatrical side, it certainly shows off his muscles. Damn.” Despite his level of contentment, his penis twitched at the sight. “We are such visual creatures,” he continued. “I am more than satisfied, and yet what goes in the eyes goes straight to my cock.”

“You are not alone in that, happens to most everyone,” Erestor noted, batting playfully at his own erection. “Hm. Mutual masturbation?” he queried.

“Yup,” Glorfindel answered. “Káno, do not feel obligated. If you end up as we are, we are happy to stroke you off with no expectation of reciprocity. There are plenty of hands to go around. And I have to admit, that is one proud cock bouncing around over there.” By now, a thin, scintillating trail of Gildor’s secretion made a gossamer strand between the tip of his penis and some point on the rooftop.

“Impressive,” Erestor agreed, giving a little grunt of contentment when he felt Glorfindel’s fingers wrap around his length.

“Maybe I should go down and stand by the hedges just in case,” mused Fingon.  A few moments later, when Maedhros lifted Gildor’s leg so that Gildor was angled toward the ground, Fingon started to stand.  Maedhros managed to get beneath Gildor to suckle on his scrotum, and Gildor had to readjust his position to keep from being shoved off the roof.  “I-- I will be back,” Fingon said as he made haste to the ladder.

Glorfindel found himself going partially limp. “You know, he is right. Being terrified Gildor will fall is not helping me stay remotely engaged in this activity.”

“Now you are making me feel bad,” countered Erestor, whose length still stood proudly at attention.

“No, no,” Glorfindel assured. “Of the two of us I think you are more comfortable with risk. Ugh. Do you think I should join Káno? If Gildor does fall, strong or not that is a lot of weight.”

Erestor sighed. “We both should.” He turned his attention to his erection. “You need to go back to being Little Eres,” he scolded his penis.

“Little Eres?” Glorfindel chortled.

“Well I have to call it something,” Erestor explained crossly. “How else am I to talk to it?”

“I...I choose to reflect upon that and answer at a later time,” Glorfindel grinned, beginning to disappear down the ladder.

By the time the pair reached the ground, Fingon had managed to roll the trampoline over from his practice area and was trying to determine how to get it close to the exterior of the cottage without damaging the topiary or the hundreds of golden flowers planted close to the walls.  “I swear, if he falls, they are not visiting again next year,” decreed Fingon.

“That implies that they ever leave,” Erestor muttered out of Fingon’s hearing, but nevertheless he too glanced up frequently.

Above, the moaning and groaning was building, and as of yet, Gildor’s penis remained untouched, engorged with desire.  Then Gildor’s position appeared to shift, and he was crouched on the ledge, and temporarily alone. Maedhros returned soon enough, and could now be seen looming above, for he had brought one of the tables to the ledge, and stood upon it so that he could embed himself within Gildor, and ride him as they stood dangerously close to toppling off the edge of the roof.  Gildor still had his fingers curled on the edge, and so he cried out several times, and begged very prettily to be touched, though Maedhros did not respond to this want.

“I do not know whether to chastise them for this later or not,” Glorfindel fretted. “On one hand, sex that makes others watching panic instead of enjoying the show is undesirable. On the other, if we criticize them they will still do this and worse, only somewhere outside our aid should injury befall them.”

“A definite conundrum,” Erestor acknowledged. “Well, I am still enjoying the show now that the trampoline is here, so…” he shrugged, having no solution nor particularly wanting to waste time devising one. “You can come back now,” he told his penis hopefully. 

Glorfindel shrugged to Fingon, and rolled his eyes.

Fingon crossed his arms and gave a nod to Glorfindel.  “Please, if you wish to join him, do not mind me. I have, most unfortunately, been the spotter for more foolish acts than this.”  He stood at the ready by the trampoline, keeping a diligent watch on the scene above.

“Little or big Eres is going to have to wait, darling,” Glorfindel said to Erestor, who still sadly regarded his flaccid penis. “I cannot live with myself if I am having nookie with you while our friends flirt with tragedy.”

Finally the dark head looked up. “Oh. Oh dear. I did not realize that they had shifted positions again. That is much more....uhm...yes. Little Eres can wait. Really, little Eres!”

Overhead, if there was any sense of danger, it was overpowered by the building passion between the two very adventurous parties.  Instead of thrusting forward, Maedhros was careful to instead jerk Gildor’s body back in a harsh and punctuated rhythm. Gildor offered encouragement, now that their hosts were out of earshot, of delicious phrases such as, “Fuck me hard, baby, yesss, right there… make me feel it tomorrow… fill me until it leaks out down my legs… make me lick you clean when you finish… fuck me harder, yesss… split me open with your cock, baby….”

Meadhros answered only with grunts and the repetitive motion that was working Gildor into a frenzy.  When he had nearly climaxed, he said, “Trust me, baby,” and Gildor moved his hands so that he was now stretching to hold onto Maedhros’ ankles.  Maedhros inched forward, now on the ledge himself, with Gildor quite precariously held onto to by one hand and a hope. Gildor released one hand and then the other, at the mercy of Maedhros as he somewhat dangled off the side of the building as Maedhros sped up his thrusting.

“Those two are fucking crazy,” was all Fingon could say as he helplessly tried to determine where to best stand in light of this increasingly dangerous exhibition.  “I want to tell them to step the fuck back, but I fear if I say anything it will interrupt them and potentially make things worse. We are most certainly going to put an extra guard rail up there for the future,” he said firmly.

Glorfindel declined to mention that the entire property would end up needing a guard rail, and only nodded instead.

As their release was now quite close, Maedhros linked his right arm around Gildor to keep any sexual impacts from knocking him inadvertently down the three stories, where it was debatable how much good the trampoline would do.  A few more swift thrusts were all he needed to set himself free, and then Maedhros took a step back to the table and pulled Gildor up by his hair. He had since slipped out of Gildor’s passage, but Gildor’s cock was still rock hard, remaining untouched the entire time.  “You know,” whispered Maedhros into Gildor’s ear as he continued to hold him with his right arm and slowly stroked the entire length of his penis with his left hand, “at this height, and this angle, with the three of them standing below, you are probably going to come all over the whole group.  How do you like that idea, hmm?” Maedhros began to pump his hand furiously as Gildor grunted, looked down at the beautiful, bare naked ellon below, and released as Maedhros bit his shoulder hard.

Too late, Glorfindel saw. “Eres! I, uhm….oh. Káno. Ahh…”

“Get. It. Off. Get it off of me, NOW.” Fingon fumed, keeping his eyes shut for the moment. 

Erestor’s eyes widened. “Oh dear. Come sweetie, I will not let you stumble, we are going to go right over to the pool. Abundant warm water...towels...cleanliness…” 

It was at this moment that Gildor looked down off the edge.  “Oh! A trampoline!” His eyes widened mischievously. “Trampoline sex!” he said excitedly as he turned to face Maedhros, each of them in profile on the ledge.

“NO!” roared Fingon, eyes open to glare, pointing his finger up at them in the most authoritative manner possible.  “I forbid it!”

“Hmm.  Guess King Fingon does not want anyone to play with his toys,” drawled Gildor, who could see from his vantage point that he had completely missed Glorfindel and Erestor, but had managed to aim in such a way that his fluid was splattered over the top of Fingon’s head and over various parts of his body.

“Watch your words,” growled Fingon.  He winced when he saw the fluid that had landed on his chest slide further down, and closed his eyes again.

“King Fingon, mighty in voice, weak when it comes to… cum,” said Gildor, looking down.  “I feel as if--- oh…” Gildor was silenced as Maedhros placed his hand upon Gildor’s head and pushed him to his knees, then shoved his penis, in need of cleaning, into Gildor’s willing mouth.  Maedhros held the back of Gildor’s head firmly and even bucked his hips a little.

“My apologies, your majesty,” called out Maedhros.  “He does not know his place… if you wish, I shall make him come down immediately to clean his filth from your body.  He would delight in that, would you not, Gildor?” And Gildor nodded and moaned at Maedhros’ words, mouth still full.

Fingon shuddered and took hold of Erestor’s arm, while Erestor gave a pleading look at the pair above, and then carefully walked Fingon across the lawn.

Glorfindel continued to look up for the moment, assured now that Gildor was out of danger from falling. He shook his head in annoyance as he followed his mates, knowing that this would help absolutely nothing where Fingon was concerned. When he reached them, he heard “again,” to see Erestor sluice more water over Fingon from a small vessel. Then it repeated. “Again!”

Erestor cringed, looking at Glorfindel.  _ I cleaned it five times already,  _ he said helplessly.   _ It is gone by now, and I still need to wash his hair. _

_ Just…indulge him. Right now it is our best hope of keeping him calm.  I will retrieve soap. Maybe if you scrub harder it will feel to him as if it is helping more. _

_ But I am going to rub his skin off,  _ Erestor mentally whined.

Glorfindel massaged his forehead as he continued to the shed in hopes of finding enough soap to wash Fingon’s hair at least five times. _ Ress… _

_ Okay! Fine!  _ Erestor continued to roughly scrub Fingon’s chest.  Glorfindel returned with a comb and the soap, as well as a rougher sponge, all of which he handed down to Erestor as Fingon hastily unbraided his hair, eyes squeezed shut, shaking and whimpering.  Erestor washed Fingon’s hair the first time, then resumed his tending to the rest of Fingon’s body while Fingon made triply sure not a trace of of essence remained in his hair.

Only when Fingon hissed at the rawness of his body did he touch Erestor’s arm.  “Thank you,” he said. “I did not mean to overreact.” What he failed to disclose was that he had heard what he believed was meant to be a private conversation about him.  He dipped his head slightly so that he could kiss Erestor on the lips. “Thank you,” he said again softly. He beckoned for Glorfindel to join them.

“You are welcome,” Erestor said with uncertainty, unhappy with the damage to Fingon’s skin. Several patches were red, and here and there tiny dots of blood bubbled up where he had broken through.  “I am sorry that happened. I wish it would have been me instead, so you would not have to--uhm--thing,” he floundered, beginning to blush.

Somehow, Glorfindel kept a straight face, though what he half felt like doing was marching to the roof to throttle their guests. But only a little.  _ Then again they probably would enjoy it, so what would the point be, really.  _ Forcing a pleasant expression onto his face, he answered Fingon’s summons.

Fingon placed an arm around Glorfindel so that they could all wade close together.  “I am so fortunate to have the two of you with me,” he said, and kissed Glorfindel now as he had Erestor.  “I think I might have to establish some ground rules for use of my gymnastics equipment, which will essentially amount to ‘NO’ for our guests.”

“Because you fear they will damage it or because they will have sex on it?” Glorfindel asked, deciding to simply go to the likely crux of the matter.

“Because I fear they will damage it while having sex on it,” replied Fingon.  He turned his head at the sounds of someone approaching, and narrowed his eyes to thin slits when Maedhros and Gildor came near the pool.

“Next time, we should have a competition for the most creative sex,” Gildor suggested as he and Maedhros entered the pool.  Gildor stretched out and sighed. “Let me know when you are all ready for round two.”

“Round two is you and Maedhros picking the produce, remember?  You lost,” pointed out Fingon. 

“Best two out of three?” Gildor grinned cheekily.

“Not with me,” Erestor said, shaking his head. “I thought I had stamina for a good day of romping but you two are in some kind of other league. Besides, my penis deflated the moment the potential for injury and mayhem entered the equation and for the moment it is sulking. Sorry.” He stared at Gildor, who he knew was trying to work out whether he was serious or not.

_ Ress, since when is your dick a separate personality?  _ Glorfindel had to ask.

_ Since a short while ago. I am having a great deal of fun with this, do not rain on my cut hay. Besides, maybe you and little Findë need to have a talk.  _

Fingon ran his fingers through his hair, smiling at the idea that he had married two people quite possibly just as odd as himself.  He suddenly had the feeling he was being watched, and looked past them to see Gildor wearing a sly look. Gildor waggled his brows, and Fingon wrinkled his nose.

Maedhros burst out laughing.  “A valiant effort, Gildor, but I think our fun is done for today.  I see the harvesting of… all of that in our future,” he said as he waved and arm in the general direction of the gardens.

“Oh, that?” Fingon snorted.  “That is just the beginning. There are items to harvest in the greenhouse, and there is a larger garden around the other side of the house where it gets far more sun.  That will need to be combed through as well.”

“Did you hear that, Gildor?  Larger than that one.” Maedhros sighed and dipped fully under the water.

“So that was what I saw from the--whoop!”  And Gildor was suddenly pulled down as well.

“That is not going to save you from it!” shouted Fingon.  

The pair resurfaced a moment later, both of them laughing, and Maedhros the louder.  “It was worth a try. I assume there are some baskets we can use?”

“Sure, but you might want to take a couple of wheelbarrows along,” said Glorfindel innocently.  Maedhros groaned.

“And we have six wheelbarrows,” added Fingon.  “So when you fill those up--”

“Oh, this is going to be a day-long endeavor,” Gildor realized.  Erestor nodded, almost sympathetically, until the memory of the scare their guests had given came back into his head.  Gildor reached out to pat Maedhros on the shoulder. “We should… get… HEY! GET BACK UP HERE!”

Maedhros resurfaced again, chuckled, and shrugged.  “It was worth a second try.”

“Come on,” prodded Gildor.  “I have another great idea I want to try before supper, so we better get moving on the harvesting.”

There was a little more splashing and frolicking, but finally it was Gildor who coaxed Maedhros out of the pool.  Fingon waited until Gildor and Maedhros left and went to the house to dress in order to address an issue on his mind.  “If his ‘great idea’ involves my trampoline--”

“I am going to talk to the hounds; your equipment will be safe,” promised Erestor.

Fingon relaxed a little.  “Well. Good. Thank you.”

“You are very welcome,” said Erestor as he edged closer, wrapping his arms around Fingon’s chest.  “Now, if you feel you wish to thank me in another way…”

“How shall I…”  Fingon furrowed his brow, then his eyes widened and he looked down at the water.  “Is that…?”

“Looks like lil’ Eres’ woke up again,” remarked Glorfindel, who, now that the danger had passed, was also becoming aroused as well.  “And since we do not have the chore of harvest before us, I think we all deserve another go at it.”

“I may need to excuse myself,” said Fingon apologetically.

“We understand,” Erestor immediately stated.  “Perhaps you would like to recline in the hammock?  Though, if you just want to return indoors, it will not bother either of us.”  Glorfindel nodded at Erestor’s words.

“Oh… I thought I would stay here and watch.  Maybe even help. Mostly, watch,” admitted Fingon as he found his way to the smooth side and sat on the ladder.  He was able to lean back now, weight supported, and lounge in the water.

“It sounds like his majesty wishes a show,” said Glorfindel.  Erestor solemnly nodded. “We must give our king what he desires, if he so commands us.”  Glorfindel turned demurely to Fingon. “Do you command it, sire?”

Fingon seemed hesitant.  His jaw twitched. 

“Is something wrong?” asked Erestor.

A slow shake of his head seemed to allow Fingon to regain his confidence.  “I do indeed command it,” he said in a rather low voice that made Erestor groan and Glorfindel smirk.  “In fact, I command you to begin, but you are not to release until I command that as well.”

Another groan came, but this one from Glorfindel.  “As you wish,” he whispered, and he and Erestor began a sensual exploration while Fingon watched from his makeshift throne, dictating their movements and positions on whims he had as they made love in the water before him.  Only when he could tell that they were both painfully erect and longing for release did he utter the word, “Now,” in a deep and commanding tone.

Following their shared climax, Erestor and Glorfindel swam to join Fingon at the edge.  “That was amazingly erotic,” said Erestor. 

“Are you sure there is nothing we can do for you?” asked Glorfindel.

Fingon kissed each of them and shook his head.  “As long as my most loyal subjects are happy, I, too, am content.”  

Their temporary silence was broken by Erestor.  “This is too perfect,” he whispered. “Every moment that there is a pause, my mind flits back to that envelope and what might be in it.”  Brow knit, he worried his fingers under the water. “What you said about Gildor… I feel as if I would be taking the easy way out, but I wish this was one thing he would blurt out things about.”

Fingon ground his teeth; Glorfindel bit his lip.  “Darling, what if he did share some things with us?” asked Fingon.  “Would you… fault us, or him, for--”

“That would be so much easier for me,” rushed Erestor.  “I know, I know… I should tell you myself. I love you both so much, and I know you would not think less, but--”

“We know.”  Glorfindel swallowed hard and gripped Erestor’s arm.  “Gondolin. Angband. Your captivity. Not all, but, enough.”  He squeezed his eyes shut. “I am sorry.”

“Oh.”  Erestor stopped fiddling with his hands and moved one to rub his forehead.  “You… both know?” He looked at Fingon.

Slowly, Fingon nodded.  “Gildor and Glorfindel spoke, and of course, Glorfindel spoke to me.”  Fingon placed his arm around Erestor. “You seem confused. Please tell us how you are feeling, even if you are upset with us.”

Erestor lowered his hand.  “I have a headache, or maybe dizziness, but… there is some… peace in my heart.”  Erestor leaned against Fingon and reached out for Glorfindel, who took his hand and kissed his palm.  “I--I think I do want Gildor there, when we talk. And… I know what I promised the other day, but--can it wait just a little longer?  I need to…”

“...collect your thoughts?” guessed Glorfindel.

“Maybe.  I just… I need it to sink in.”  Erestor looked at the rippling water again.  “How long?”

“As long as you need,” Fingon said gently.

“No… no, how long have you known?” asked Erestor.

“Not long.  A few days.”  Glorfindel nuzzled Erestor.  “Are you sure you are not mad at us?”

Erestor shook his head, and kissed each of his husbands on the cheek in turn.  “I am not upset with Gildor, either. If there is anyone I am sore at, it is me.  So many years, so many secrets.” Erestor sighed. “I am sorry to have put the two of you through all of this.”

“Trauma make us react in whatever ways we need to survive,” Glorfinel said.  “Just know that we love you so very much, and when you are ready to share more, we are here.”

With a small nod, Erestor closed his eyes.  

“Eres?  Cupcake?”

The sound of snapping fingers caused Erestor’s eyes to abruptly open.  “Hmm?”

“There you are.”  Fingon sighed in relief.  “I just said, as long as my loyal subjects are happy, so am I, and Glorfindel suggested I just decree it so, but I expected a reply from you and you seem to have daydreamed away from us.”

“Probably with thoughts of what else ‘Little Eres’ wants to do this afternoon,” teased Glorfindel.

Erestor smiled and shook his head playfully.  He took a shaky breath, and covered his emotions with, “The breeze is giving me a chill.  Perhaps we should go inside.” He buried the thoughts of the conversation that had manifested in his head.  While his own thoughts kept wandering to the envelope, it was due less to personal worries, and more from picking up fleeting thoughts from Glorfindel and Fingon.  He so wished to reveal to them that he knew of their knowledge, but still he was afraid. He covered his visible fear by suggesting to them, “I would be far less cold if the two of you would indulge me with a snuggle or two.”

All three of them embraced, holding on to each other. “What shall we do next?” Glorfindel asked.

“I am glad you asked,” Fingon answered. “One word. ‘Relish’.”

Erestor looked at Glorfindel quizzically. The blond shrugged, but smiled. “Er, sure. Relish it is. I relish the thought.”

“Cucumbers,” clarified Fingon.  “There are bushels of them picked yesterday, and we need to do something with them.”

“Oh… so... we are going to have the honor of dicing them while Maedhros and Gildor spend the day out here harvesting more?” Glorfindel whined.

“Relish will not make itself,” Fingon said authoritatively. 

Erestor groaned, but led the way out of the pool and indoors.

  
  


#### 

####  Afternoon Day Six

Gildor reached in fascination under the next squash plant. “One, two, three, four...yes, five,” he counted aloud, filling the basket and moving on. “And what have we here? One, two, oh I think most definitely three. If you are not ready at this exact moment, you will be beyond ready by tonight, so it is all the same difference.” When he reached the end of the row, he looked down at the wooden harvest box he had filled, and laughed. “What were they thinking, Mae?” he held up a particularly well-shaped squash, admiring it.

“I know what  _ you _ are thinking,” the redhead laughed, knowing Gildor too well.

“Have you ever tried one of these? Erestor says it is a special spineless variety. Smooth skinned and all.” Gildor grinned.

“No, but I have a feeling one of those is going to never make its way to the dinner table,” Maedhros teased, somewhat astonished (except not) that Gildor could turn even produce into an object of sexual interest.

“Well, at least I am not having fantasies about the cucumbers. Have you seen some of these? I mean, ouch!” Gildor moved over to another row with Maedhros in tow, bringing forth in short order a very long and seductive specimen--were it not for the incredible amount of bumps and bristles covering the skin.

“Not my cup of tea. And yet you are often the more adventurous one,” Maedhros pointed out.

“Hmmm.” Gildor placed it in the crate, finding another. And another. And...another. “No, I think just the squash. I do not suppose you would go to the greenhouse and see if they have more of these containers? Otherwise I will take this one inside soon and offload what is here; it is almost out of room.”

“I will look, but I think you should do that anyway. I mean, have you seen the size of these rows? Either way you will need that emptied.”

“True,” said Gildor. “I will say one thing, the quality of our meals certainly has been on an upswing since coming here.”

“Fingon always could cook, and quite well at that. It is just that this garden is making enough food for fifteen of us, five be damned. Maybe they have some ideas; all this is beyond me except to help pick it. Honestly, I do not even know how you know what to do.”

“Well, there is really just one simple principle, as Fin told me when I helped the other day,” Gildor explained. “Whatever is here is only going to get bigger. When it is small, it is more tender and delicate. Though, to my mind, there is such a thing as so small as to be ridiculous--when it comes to vegetables. So, see the blossoms on the ends of these things? If that has shrivelled, it absolutely can be picked. As long as the plant is healthy, trust me, it will make more whether you want it to or not.”

“And then I poop, and that keeps the plants healthy!” Asfaloth remarked, coming over to investigate the goings-on.

“Yes, well, hopefully not on the plants,” Maedhros wrinkled his nose. “I do not think any of us want to appreciate your efforts quite so directly.”

“What do you take me for, some kind of wildman?” Asfaloth said in mock indignity. “Actually, do not answer that. Um, hey. Are you going to eat that cucumber?” he pointed.

Gildor wordlessly handed one over. “These need to go in the house.” If he noticed Maedhros now admiring the shape of some of the eggplants, he wisely said nothing.

**

“More?” whined Erestor, once he caught sight of the box.

“We wondered what you were thinking, planting all those,” Gildor smiled. Fingon was busy mixing salt and water in a very large vessel.

“He was not,” Fingon answered. “Is that not obvious? And yet he did it so well. Do you not agree, cupcake? Oh, make those slices just a little thicker, I think.”

The pile of cucumber slices was already mounding out of the bowl Erestor had filled.  “Better to have more than we need than not enough,” replied Erestor.

“Oh look, more squash!” Glorfindel said happily.

Fingon met Gildor’s eyes, and remained silent.

“You do not like pickles?” Glorfindel asked Fingon, now uncertain. “A chickpea paste sandwich with sliced pickles, tomato and some cheese is enough to make me not care if I ever eat meat again. Mostly. So delicious,” he noted emphatically. 

“I like them,” Fingon answered carefully. “I also remember that the last time I saw this many in one place was when my mother carried Aredhel and could not get enough of them. And that they were served with everything for something like two and a half months until she developed a new craving.”

“For?” Gildor asked, curious.

Fingon closed his eyes, sighing. “Blueberry banana muffins.”

“Those sound wonderful,” Erestor commented. “Why have you never made those for--oh.”

“Exactly,” said Fingon. “I am still tired of them. But I would make them for you. Who knows, perhaps I am only tired of them still in my mind.”

Maedhros considered this, contemplating. “That happened to us, too. But in our case it was poached figs.” He caught Erestor’s expression of yearning. “I know. They sound good, right? Until you have to eat them every day for three months, on five separate occasions. What can I say? It changes a person.”

“But they do sound wonderful,” Fingon pondered. “Hm. I wish we had a fig tree. Something else to consider, maybe?”

“In addition to the others you said you wanted for a  little orchard?” Glorfindel teased. “The little orchard is becoming bigger than little, and we have not so much as even placed a measuring stake in the ground yet.”

“Measuring stake?” Fingon asked, not understanding.

“And awaaaaaay we go,” Glorfindel muttered under his breath as Erestor’s head raised. His plan was working perfectly. Gildor, for his part, pulled up a chair and leaned back with his long legs. The chair tilted back slightly. Maedhros’ eyes followed the body language of the others in the room, realizing that Erestor and Fingon were oblivious to what so amused Glorfindel and Gildor.

“Yes, measuring stakes,” Erestor began, tentatively at first. “Before anything is done to plant trees, there must be site preparation. This is accomplished ordinarily by the use of string lines placed on a diagonal and…”

The dark ellon was rolling along, and Glorfindel felt most pleased to hear him passionately discoursing about orchard planning, oblivious to the fact that Fingon had not been prepared for this level of detail. Maedhros kept smiling a little more all the time, to watch his hapless former lover blinking as his eyes slowly began to glaze over. Finally, he elected to come to the rescue. “Well, I feel as though the future of fig trees here is assured, in such capable hands,” he interjected smoothly. “But perhaps it is time to finish the pickle recipe? I vote for lots of dill, if my opinion matters.”

“And garlic,” Erestor added enthusiastically, seemingly unaware that his lecture had been hijacked and rerouted. 

Glorfindel kissed the dark head. “Lots of garlic. And perhaps a layer of grape leaves; those always help.”

“Grape leaves?” Fingon asked, not having learned his lesson the first time. 

“I am going to the cellar for wine,” Gildor announced, rather feeling that this was the best platonic entertainment he had seen in some time. However, Erestor was merciful, given that this had to do with cooking. 

“I think it has something to do with something to help the pickles turn out crunchy,” Erestor ventured, looking to Glorfindel for affirmation and feeling pleased when the nod of approval resulted. However, he was not about to embarrass himself by pretending he knew everything about it.

“You are very intelligent, Erestor, and learned,” Maedhros observed. “I find I greatly enjoy listening to you, for you seem to know something delightfully arcane about most everything.”

Erestor blushed from the praise, humbly saying “Thank you” to the compliment.

In short order, the pickles were made and packed away into numerous jars, sealed and labeled for future use, and tucked away into the sub basement in creates.  Darkness was intruding again as they finished their task, and Asfaloth had already retired for the evening by the time the five were sitting around the kitchen table, contemplating what to do next following a late meal.  The heat had dissipated enough to allow for sleeping inside the house without discomfort, but Gildor voiced an opinion to leave things on the roof should the weather shift.

“I think maybe we should talk, tonight,” Glorfindel suggested. “About all of us. And...things.”

“I am in agreement.  I feel there are numerous topics overdue for discussion.”  Maedhros looked around at the others, but did not allow his gaze to fall upon Fingon.

Fingon bit at the skin around his thumbnail.  He noted that Erestor was looking at him, so he asked, “What are your thoughts on that, Eres?”

“What Maedhros said,” Erestor mumbled nervously. “Before I can lose what tiny amount of resolve I have mustered.”

Gildor nodded as well.  “I could gather some refreshments.”

“It needs to be a nice, comfortable place,” said Maedhros.  “A room with a lock on the door.”

“Why does it need to have a lock?” Fingon’s words were rushed and harsh, and his brow knit.

Very calmly, Maedhros said, “In case someone chances to have the thought to leave.  It is the same as it is in council, remember?” asked Maedhros. “We would lock the doors, because someone might have a differing opinion, and it helped.”  Maedhros lifted a brow to challenge Fingon as he now looked at him.

“Fine,” Fingon mumbled.

Erestor laughed. “All the times I became upset with Glorfindel in the past and stormed out of the room. I did not know you had heard about my little problem, though I want to hope I am past doing that.” A soft smile of cheerful amusement rested on his face. “I give any and all of you permission to sit on me if I try to leave.”

“Oh, I doubt you are the one we need to worry about,” said Maedhros in a pleasant enough voice.  He patted Erestor’s shoulder as he stood up and offered to give Gildor a hand in gathering a repast.  

The dark beauty fired a quizzical look at Glorfindel, and then shrugged. “I will go find cushions,” he declared, disappearing up the stars.

#### 

####  Evening Day Six

Fruit and dessert were served in the library, a room not often used for entertaining, but the one that seemed most comfortable for the conversation that was to follow.  Upon Maedhros’ suggestion, the door was locked and the key placed in Gildor’s care (to keep anyone from storming out, he had said, while looking at Fingon). There were gin and brandy, and wine for something lighter, and a pitcher of water.  Asfaloth, as he had requested, was exempt from the ‘two-legged council’. 

Everyone decided on separate places to sit: Erestor at his desk, perhaps expecting to draft something there, while Maedhros was nearest to him on a bench at the window.  Fingon was in a worn wooden chair found at the market which he upholstered with scrap velvet found in a chest in the basement in remarkably good shape, and became known to his mates ever since as his throne.  Gildor stayed near the door, which was also near the treats, and only he so far had taken to sampling from the tin of rhubarb candies. Finally, there was Glorfindel, who decided to bring extra cushions so that he could lounge on the leather sofa.

“Where do we even start?” asked Fingon once they were settled in and the key was safely in Gildor’s pocket.

Almost immediately, Erestor had a clean sheet of paper on the desk.  “I can create an agenda,” he offered.

“Obviously, we need a discussion about what happened this morning,” said Maedhros as Erestor began writing.  “I think we all went into that with the purest of intentions--”

“Not I!” declared Gildor.

“--and something more followed, which is not to say it is a bad thing, but it would help to define boundaries.  Mostly for Gildor,” Maedhros added.

“I second that,” Gildor said.  “I will hopscotch over any lines drawn.  I need a very solid wall built in my way.”

“What if I just punch you in the face as a reminder not to cross a particular line?” asked Fingon.

“That seems really extreme,” remarked Gildor.  “I would much prefer a wall. Ooo, a fancy wall, like the ones in Gondolin.  You had a very nice wall, Glorfindel,” he said with a wink.

“I am not sure how to take that comment,” admitted Glorfindel.

“Or,” Maedhros interrupted, “we could all try acting like adults and respecting boundaries and limitations so that this does not lead to another kinslaying.”

“Slightly extreme example, but I agree,” said Fingon.  “What else should we discuss?”

“I think we need to talk about…”  Glorfindel sat up and looked around.  “Maybe this is premature, but there has been past discussion of all of us living together.  If that is something which is still of interest, then, I think we should entertain that possibility.  This house is big enough, and in general, I think we enjoy each other’s company.”

Maedhros and Gildor exchanged a long look, though it was evident that there was some unheard conversation between them.  “The concern we had was with my work,” Maedhros said. “When this idea first surfaced, it seemed plausible, but there were two items that Gildor and I talked about.  The first was the ropemaking. It smells bad, it gets to be a dirty mess, and for all the work and hours, I spend an intense amount of labor on what takes anyone else a half or third of the time.  I lack the dexterity now for the trades my father taught me, but I refuse to be useless. This afternoon, in the fields, I realized that I can have a purpose here.”

“You mentioned that there were two things holding you back,” cited Glorfindel.  

“The other thing is me.”  Fingon drummed his fingers on his chair.  “You need not say it for me to know.”

Maedhros left the bench and approached Fingon.  When he stood directly before him, he took to one knee and gently reached for Fingon’s hand.  “You are my cousin and my friend, and you are the last king I pledged myself to.” He bowed his head and kissed Fingon’s hand with a reverence not seen by the others.  “I was a coward, Fin. I gave up the crown because I saw what happened to my grandfather and my father, and countless others, and I was too afraid to die. You have always been the brave one.  You sacrificed everything for me. Everything.” He kissed Fingon’s hand again and then reached up to wipe away the tears now streaming down Fingon’s face with the smooth yet scarred skin covering his right wrist.  “You will always be my king.”

Fingon turned his head slightly, but not away.  Finally receiving recognition from Maedhros of all he had done was nearly overwhelming.  He kissed the stump of Maedhros’ arm and leaned his cheek against it. “I have missed you,” he whispered.  Fingon reached over to rub his hand up and down Maedhros’ arm and kissed the reminder of his deeds once again.  

“In my opinion,” said Gildor as he poured two glasses of water, “there are ways for people to love one another deeply without being espoused.  I have always felt that the two of you are best when you are near to one another in times of peace between you. In a way, so different, like the two trees were, and yet, there is a symbiosis there.  You shower one another with something no one else really can understand. I feared that your roots had nearly dried up, but now I think you have the chance to blossom, each in your own way.” He held out a glass to each of them.  Fingon took his and nodded thanks while Maedhros stood up and kissed Gildor on the mouth before accepting the other glass from him.

“I hesitate to say this,” began Glorfindel, “but I agree with Gildor.  I--”

“You hesitate to agree with me?”  Gildor snorted. “Rude.”

“Not that,” scolded Glorfindel.  “Your observation about Maedhros and Fingon is sound.” A gesture was waved at the two just mentioned. “Once the two of you get the initial jabs at each other out of your system, you seem very comfortable with one another.  I think you need each other.”

“You and Gildor are not so different,” said Maedhros, “only without the fire and ice.  You are both well-matched in intelligence and wit, and you share many interests.”

Only now did the others notice that Erestor was no longer writing.  The quill had long been abandoned, and the paper was shoved to the side.  Erestor sat so very quietly, head turned slightly, and only because of the angle did anyone see the tears that dripped off his chin.  It was Glorfindel who stood to go to him, and Erestor, seeing the movement, joked half-heartedly with, “Well, I guess that puts me with Asfaloth, then.”

“Sweetheart, no.  You are a part of all of this.  You are with Fingon and I, baby.”  Glorfindel tried to pull Erestor up into his arms, but Erestor was slumped heavily in the chair, and so Glorfindel knelt and placed his head upon Erestor’s lap.  “We love you so much,” he said as Erestor absently stroked his head.

“I have been thinking,” said Fingon, still in his own chair, “of all of the horrible things that happened.  And I have been especially thinking of what happened to you in Angband, at least, of what I know of it. And I keep thinking, parents do so much to protect their child, but grandparents -- grandparents are fierce.  And I keep thinking about our beliefs, so similar, and the consideration that ‘all things happen for a reason’. I have had a hard time trying to figure out what the fuck reason anyone would have to send you for so long into such a horrific situation.  As terrible as it is, all I can come up with is, the Valar are supposed to be doing the will of Eru. Eru needed to see how Morgoth would treat his own child, and you were used as the test to what Morgoth’s fate would be. And I might be completely wrong in saying this,” Fingon sniffled, crying once again, “but I think this, all of this, us together, this is His attempt at an apology for everything He indirectly put you through.  And some of you might not agree with my assessment, but I think Eru, I think He is seeking your forgiveness, Erestor. And I know not everyone here shares my beliefs, but I feel like this is a sort of calling. I feel like we have been chosen and we have been given such a great and wonderful responsibility, and I am going to do everything I can to fulfill that, and to take care of you, and to take care of all of us.” The front of his shirt was damp, and he lifted it up at the collar to wipe his face.  “I mean, look at the rest of us. We are all from the House of Finwë; the house that, in all honesty, was the most blasphemous against Eru and the Valar. Maybe this is some sort of path to forgiveness for us as well,” he said, and his focus was on Maedhros now. 

There was quiet for some time.  It was Gildor who next spoke. “I stopped believing in Eru when my father died,” he said quietly.  “My father was such a good man; I saw no reason he should have been so brutally killed, or killed at all.  I remember cursing Eru and demanding some sort of sign that he was not so cruel, because it just seemed like everyone was dying, but nothing ever came, nothing that would make me believe.”

“I just thought after everything I did… I was no child of Ilúvatar.”  Maedhros sipped from his glass. “There are all of the things everyone knows, and then there are all of the other shitty things we kept quiet about which were usually worse than the things people knew.  I felt He has a right to abandon me. When I was reborn like I was… well, I guess I feel He did abandon me.”

“Have you… have you ever tried talking to Him?” asked Fingon.

Maedhros shrugged.  “What would I even say, Fin?”

“I could try to help you.  If you want,” offered Fingon.

“Maybe later,” grumbled Maedhros.

“Gildor?”  Glorfindel spoke now, head still resting on Erestor’s lap, and his arms around Erestor’s legs.  Gildor looked over, and Glorfindel continued. “You are the only one of the five of us who never died.”

“Yes,” confirmed Gildor.

“What if that was your sign?”

Gildor, speechless, moved to take up residence on the window seat.

Erestor waited patiently until this part of the discussion was over with. Then he raised his head. “When did you learn about Angband?” he asked quietly. “Because I know I never told you,” he told Fingon in a level voice. “And from Glorfindel’s lack of reaction I presume he also knew.”  He said nothing of what thoughts he had overheard over the last few days.

“Gildor told me only a few days ago,” Glorfindel admitted. “And in turn I told Fingon.”

“Please forgive me, that in my weakness you did not hear it from me as should have rightfully happened,” Erestor said, daring to glance at Glorfindel. “I am going to spare you all of my excuses; you have heard them before enough times.” Lowering his eyes, he waited for a response of some kind. A moment of silence passed, before a weak smile appeared on his face. “I am glad you know. It feels like a burden of sorts has been lifted. Though, I still feel ashamed of my fear. You both deserve so much better.”

Fingon kneaded his fingers and shook his head.  “You should feel no shame for that. There are all of us things we desire to keep hidden, at least for a time.”

“And how,” muttered Maedhros.

Glorfindel gave Fingon an odd look, but now was not the time to ask what was meant by his comment.  He concentrated on Erestor. “Fingon is correct, as usual. You should not be ashamed. I am so proud of you, that you managed to survive everything that Gildor told us you went through.”

“Mayhaps now it will be easier for me to share with you all of the things that Gildor did not know,” contemplated Erestor.  He looked across the room at his one-time lover. “Gildor, I want you to know that I hold no ill will against you for sharing what you know with Glorfindel.  In fact, I thank you for it.” 

Erestor and Gildor shared a sad smile before Erestor continued.  “I know that what happened to me was not Eru’s doing,” Erestor said with a quiet finality, as he brushed away the last of his tears. “I understood what I was, and believed that placed a greater obligation on me, though I did not ask for my father to be who he was. I made so many bad choices. Those were my responsibility, not Eru’s. I…” Trailing off, he found himself unable to further articulate his thought. “I am just grateful to be here, because there were obviously many times when that was no longer guaranteed. Glorfindel, Fingon--even Gildor,” he admitted. “I am not unaware of what all of you did for me. I have not expressed my thanks enough. And Gildor…” Erestor raised his head a little more to steal a glance at the ellon near the window, who did not return his gaze. It was just as well. “You and I have had our differences in the past. I want you to know that I do not hold any of it against you. You hurt me deeply, more than once, but you never acted out of a falsehood. I was…I probably deserved all of those things and more.” He hung his head, feeling no desire to fight or wrestle any longer with old grievances. “I am sorry, for what I cost you. I just wanted you to know, before I lose the courage to say all of this.”

At once Glorfindel held him tighter, before raising Erestor up with him and insisting that the dark ellon sit on his lap so that he could hold him more securely. Another tear rolled down Erestor’s cheek as he regarded his husband, kissed his brow, and tucked his head into the crook of his neck.

Gildor listened closely, and then downed a double portion of gin.  He licked his lips as he set the glass aside. “I was really pissed that night I caught you with Maglor and Galugil.  I was equally upset with your decision to join them with whatever the three of you did as I was with your decision not to ask me to join in with the three of you.  We had such great chemistry, except every time we slid a little further along in the relationship, every time kissing and fondling had us naked in the tent, you would shy away and tell me you felt rushed and babble about being attracted to women, and so I gave you all the time you wanted.  I was so fucking patient. And then… I just snapped that night, and every night after was a quest to make you miserable.” Gildor crossed the room and stopped before Glorfindel and Erestor. He lifted a hand tentatively and stroked Erestor’s hair. “I am… really ashamed that I did…” He looked away as tears threatened to fall.  “You keep saying you deserved those things, but I knew more than anyone what you went through, and all I did was prolong your torture through my spite. I could have just… slapped your cheek and moved on, but instead I engaged in years of calculated, hurtful revenge. And for what? Because I gave you drink and drugs that chased you into someone else’s tent?  You probably thought it was ours, for all I know… do you even remember that night?”

Erestor looked to the floor and shook his head.  “I only recall that after the performance, we ate and drank, and used the coca, and drank some more, and when I awoke, Maglor was there, and told me that you were gone.”

After giving Erestor a good, hard look, Gildor peered over his shoulder.  “MaeMae, cover your ears.” Maedhros did so with a frown. Gildor looked back at Erestor.  “When I woke up and could not find you, I went searching. I found you in the tent with Maglor and Galugil.  She was sitting on his face, while you had Maglor’s cock in your mouth. I just walked. I told Maglor you were his whore, and I walked.  I was the one who gave you those drugs and the-- Maedhros, you can uncover your ears now,” Gildor called out.

“I still heard what you said,” Maedhros replied.  “We are going to have a discussion later about what else you know about Maglor that I am not aware of.”  He cleared his throat. “Maybe this is the wrong time to ask, and I know there was going to be an agenda, but fuck that… so, Erestor, do you still use coca or anything else like that?”

“Not for years now.” Erestor glanced up at Maedhros, ashamed but determined to tell the truth. “There are times I still think about it. I think I will always think about it. But I have Fingon and Glorfindel to steady me, to remind me what I have now, and I promised myself I would do my utmost to be a better partner. A better person. I have run out of chances, Maedhros. The idea of going back to what I was before terrifies me, and yet I know the temptation will always be there. It is another consequence of my bad choices in this life.”

“Thank you for your bravery in sharing that,” said Maedhros.  He now turned his attention to Gildor, who looked guilty. “What did you bring with you, hon?”

As Gildor began to open his mouth, Fingon sprang up.  “You brought that shit into this house?!” He had Gildor spun around a moment later.  “Where is it?” he demanded.

“I… I did not mean--- I was not going to offer him any,” Gildor defended.

“I want it out of here -- now,” snarled Fingon.  “And if you ever bring it in here again -- let me make this clear.  If we want to entertain any thought of you as guests or residents here, that will NOT be part of the equation.  Is that clear?”

Gildor trembled a little.  “Fingon, I swear, what I brought is--”

“What did you bring, Gildor?” Maedhros was now beside his husband, a protective arm around him, but firm in his questioning.  “Did you just bring the liquid relaxants, or did you bring other things? Is there coca in the bag?”

Gildor’s sideways looks were filled with more guilt with each additional question.  “Fingon, I am sorry. I had no idea.”

Erestor groaned softly and buried his face in his hands out of sheer humiliation. Glorfindel tried to soothe him as best he could, but was met with one overwhelming thought:  _ I am no better than a child, with all the adults in the room fighting over how best to keep the elfling out of the sugar bowl.  _ He began to cry silently, turning his face more toward Glorfindel’s chest in the hopes he might not be seen.

Fingon rubbed his temples.  “Gildor, I am not going to tell you what you can or cannot do with your life, but I have seen what that stuff can do.  I know there is a difference between abuse and recreation, and I am sure you are being careful, but Gildor… how often do you use this stuff?  Once a week? A few times a month?”

Gildor’s mouth moved without any sort of confirmation.  Maedhros squeezed Gildor’s shoulder. “Daily,” Maedhros said, and held his breath for Fingon’s reaction.  Gildor looked back to the ground.

“Gildor…”  Fingon swallowed hard, shook his head, and blinked away tears.  “I…” He turned away. “Maedhros, get that shit out of here.”

Maedhros looked from his ex-lover to his beloved, back and forth, and even to Glorfindel, and then Erestor.  “Gildor. The key.” He held out his hand, and Gildor removed the key from his pocket to hand it to Maedhros.  

“Just… put it in the stable or something for now,” managed Fingon.  Once Maedhros left, Fingon hugged his arms around himself and addressed Gildor again, with his back to him.  “If you really need it, then we can find somewhere for you to go that Erestor does not know about, but… not here.  Not in this house. This house is a haven, and it cannot go back to how it was. I hope you understand. I love you and Maedhros, but I need to put Erestor and our needs first.  I know that is not convenient for you, but it is necessary for us.”

“I am so sorry,” Erestor sobbed, not moving from the safety of Glorfindel’s embrace. “So sorry I am like this.”

“Cupcake, no.”  Fingon moved closer to his mates again, and knelt on the floor so that he could embrace them.  “Darling, if the positions were reversed, I would expect you to do the same for me. You have, you know.  It is just the opposite.” He took hold of Erestor’s hand and slid it under his shirt. “See? Remember when you could feel my ribs, and see them protruding?  I was starving myself, Erestor, and I still would if you were not always growing such wonderful things for me. You do not need to apologize for this. I love you so much.”

Sniffling, Erestor looked up, his face stained with tears. Shakily leaning forward, he kissed Fingon’s brow, and struggled to his feet. To everyone’s surprise, he walked to Gildor and opened his arms. “I am still sorry,” he whispered to Gildor.

Gildor looked up and stared at Erestor.  Finally, he stepped closer and put his arms around Erestor to pull him into a hug.  “Shit, honey, you know I would have let you go down on Maglor if that was really what you wanted to do.  Would have watched and cheered you on and everything.”

Maedhros, who entered the room to hear this comment, now wore an odd look, which he shook off.  “All taken care of,” he said to Fingon after he locked the door and deposited the key in his own pocket.  Fingon nodded as he stood up.

“Gildor,” Glorfindel said. “I am not sure if you understand how many times Erestor used drugs or drinks to absolutely not recall his deeds. Or if you understand what happened to him that he felt he needed to.” He took a risk, and saw Erestor’s expression of shock, but felt that this had to be spoken. “Please forgive me, Ress, but no more hiding. He needs to know.”

Erestor nodded, his lower lip trembling. To everyone’s surprise, he held onto Gildor more tightly than before and buried his face into Gildor’s shoulder. 

Gildor held onto Erestor and rubbed his back.  “Now I feel like an even bigger asshole.”

“Glorfindel just wants you to understand that this is not some joke,” said Fingon carefully.  “We care deeply about Erestor’s well-being, and to be honest…” Fingon shoved his hands into his pockets.  “In a bad week, Erestor might use something twice, three times at most. He could go weeks between at times.  Do you see where I am going with this, Gildor?” There was no response as Gildor continued to offer comfort to Erestor.  Fingon continued. “Once a day… every day is a lot.”

“By daily, I meant--”

Gildor cut Maedhros off.  “Let me say it,” he said. He took a deep breath, still holding Erestor tightly.  “Once a day, twice a day, sometimes more.” Gildor sighed. “It does not seem so bad until I actually say it.”

The additional shock of this revelation required Fingon to pause another moment.  “Why do you take it so often, Gildor? What does it help you do?”

“It makes me happy,” Gildor said almost immediately. 

“Other things make you happy though, right?” asked Fingon.  “Maedhros makes you happy.” To this, Gildor smiled and nodded.  Fingon asked, “What do you think would happen if you stopped taking it?”  Gildor merely shrugged.

“Forgive me, but this is getting off of the point, which is Erestor,” Glorfindel said calmly but firmly. “And that Gildor needs to know that Erestor was tortured in a conversion therapy facility for homosexuals long before Gildor or I ever met him. The damage to his mind from this was extensive, and the only means by which he could express his real desires was to drink or drug himself into oblivion, because his waking mind could find no way to reconcile his true preference after what had been done to him. That this happened to him defined most every aspect of his existence for the ages to follow. You want to know how bad it was? Even we only heard about it the night Fingon and Eres bound themselves to each other. This goes immeasurably far beyond whether or not he wanted to suck off Maglor.” 

“I never wanted to do that specifically,” came a muffled answer from Erestor as he spoke against Gildor’s shoulder.  “I do not even remember that night.” Fingon now approached and gently intercepted, pulling Erestor into his own arms.  Gildor kissed Erestor’s brow before he was beckoned by Maedhros, who sat with him on the sofa, Gildor’s head upon Maedhros’ shoulder.

Erestor sighed. “I feel like such an aberration.”

“No!” Fingon said, more forcefully than he meant to. “No, cupcake,” he added in a much softer tone. “You are not. And...Glorfindel, maybe it is time?” 

Glorfindel nodded.

“Gildor, where is the envelope?” Fingon asked. Erestor now looked up, curious. Fingon steered him to the unoccupied sofa and held him close, while Gildor walked to the desk and fished an envelope from the bottom of a stack of papers at the corner. 

“Here,” the pale blond ellon offered it to Fingon, who shook his head. 

“Please give that to Glorfindel.”

The blond had it in his hands, and hesitantly broke the seal. Erestor now realized what the document was, and bowed his head a little, as if accepting this as another element of his fate. Lacing his fingers into Fingon’s, he waited, and tried to control his trembling.  

Glasses were fished out of Glorfindel’s pocket, and he perched them on his nose.  The first thing Glorfindel withdrew was a brittle folder. On the top, the number 197 had been written but crossed off, and ‘E-5’ was written in darker, bolder letters by someone else.  Underneath these was the name ‘Tatannen’, and Glorfindel felt his fingers tighten as he froze.

“What is it?” asked Fingon.

When Glorfindel remained in place, Maedhros stood up slowly.  “Would you like me to read the contents out loud?” he offered.  “I think this might be one of those moments that the three of you will want to be together.”

“That...might be best,” Glorfindel said softly, rising to hand the folder to Maedhros before continuing on to seat himself so that Erestor was between himself and Fingon. “I love you,” he told Erestor, kissing his lips softly. “I am with you.” Expectantly, Glorfindel stared now at Maedhros, waiting.

Still trembling, Erestor leaned his head against Glorfindel’s shoulder and held onto Fingon’s hands.  “I am very cold,” he admitted. “Is there--”

“On it.”  Gildor grabbed a throw from a nearby chair and brought it to the couch, where Fingon and Glorfindel helped to tuck it around Erestor.  Gildor opted now to perch on the arm of the sofa, on the side that Fingon sat on. 

Maedhros opened the folder and looked down at the first sheet of paper.  He skimmed and took a breath. “The first page is a contract, signed by Erestor, which is an agreement allowing the staff at the clinic to use whatever techniques they deem necessary in order to cure him of his affliction.”

Glorfindel turned to look uneasily at Erestor, feeling him trembling under the throw. Already his resolve in this was being tested. “Ress...I think this is important, but not more important than you are. I know what I demanded of you and that you agreed, but do you still agree? It is not in me to put you through torment to which you do not truly consent.”

Fingon rubbed at Erestor’s back, but held his tongue. Erestor himself paused a long while before answering, before he shook his head. “If you give me an out, I will take it, Fin. I am a coward. I already gave my agreement. Just...let it stand. There is no way through this except doing whatever it takes to come to the other side. Please stay with me, that is what I ask. I need you. I need both of you.” His voice cracked with strain, and he did not look at Maedhros but instead turned his head in toward Glorfindel, huddling closer to his warmth. Looking up, Fingon nodded for Maedhros to continue.

Already, Maedhros had shuffled to the next ancient sheet and looked it over.  “The next begins the record of Erestor’s daily schedule.” He cleared his throat and began to read it slowly:

“Day 1: Patient admitted and assigned number 197. Standard admittance medications administered.

Day 2. Patient 197 evaluated and given facility orientation. First group therapy participation, including introductions to other patients and staff.  Assigned to sleeping quarters in room 14.

Day 3. First one-on-one patient therapy session. 197 is highly intelligent and seemingly pleasant during the session.  All questions were answered as one would expect a patient at the end of the program to answer. 197 asked if he was cured now and could leave.  When 197 was told that he still had additional sessions and therapy to attend, he angrily knocked over his chair as he was leaving and kicked the door.  Advisement has been given to increase water mixture from ten parts sedationary extract to twenty parts extract.”

“They were drugging you,” realized Gildor.  “They were supposed to be helping you!”

“Well, we already know what sort of ‘help’ they were offering,” Fingon growled.

“But I do not ever remember being given anything,” Erestor muttered, confused. “They never said a word about that. I feel sure of it…” His hand raised to scratch his head out of habit in his puzzlement. “What water mixture?”

Fingon wrapped his arms more securely around Erestor. “Cupcake, what if the water you drank was laced with the stuff, at very low concentrations?”

“But that makes no sense, they did not bring us doses of water; we had all the water we wanted to drink, each out of our own...ohhhh.” Wide-eyed, Erestor now reconsidered everything about a past memory. “We were assigned our own water canteens, and had instructions to always refill them from a jug assigned only to each of us. They told us it was for hygiene and sanitation, so that everything could be as clean as possible.” He shook his head sadly. “The water there did have a slight off-taste, which they explained was from the minerals in the water well for the facility. I never even considered--”

“I am fairly certain that was the point of the thing,” Gildor added, visibly upset. “That you ‘never even considered.’ You would not have a sudden onset of effects that way. But in a short period of time a regimen like that would have stolen your will and your clarity of thought away just like that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. “Bastards.”

“I am going to read the next entry, but then I have a question,” admitted Maedhros.  “Day 4: During group session, 197 interrupted several times to tell discussion leader that ‘Mollaldo’ had not been heard from.  When told that there was no one named Mollaldo in the room, 197 began visibly angry. At the end of the session, 197 walked to an empty chair to console ‘Mollaldo’.  

Day 5: At meals, 197 tells staff and other patients that he wishes to eat with ‘Millaldo’ even though there is only an empty chair at his table.  When asked to describe Millaldo, 197 gives details about a Vanyarin male. No Vanyarin male patients are currently registered at the clinic at this time. Dining hall staff have remarked that at times, 197 will obtain two food trays, one for himself and one ‘for his friend’.  

Day 6: Group sessions continue to be productive, but 197 will not spend recreational time with other patients.  When asked if he wishes to play a game with someone or participate in art therapy, he will always say that Milaldo is not interested.”  Maedhros looked up at Erestor. “Who is Mollaldo?”

“Millaldo was my friend, my--” Erestor looked at Fingon, his eyes still wide as saucers. “Káno, is that saying that I was friends with someone that did not exist?”

“I do not know, cupcake,” Fingon tried to soothe, heartbroken to see Erestor’s expressions.

Gildor cleared his throat. “Erri, it is entirely possible that what they were giving you caused hallucinations. I am sorry.”

“Fuck,” Erestor said miserably, looking up at Maedhros. “Well, you might as well go on.”

Maedhros nodded and continued to read.  “Day 7: 197 is producing rehearsed answers to all questions asked in therapy, and asks repeatedly how many more additional sessions he will need to be cured. Will consult with chief medical specialist re: increasing hypnotic extract in water mixture.

Day 8: Following staff team discussion, an intern pointed out that the description of Millaldo matches one of three paintings on the side of the building at the entrance, which depicts a female Noldo, a male Vanya, and a male Teleri.  197 was asked to follow escort of two clinicians to the outside of the building where the paintings are and was asked what he thought of the paintings on the mural. 197 appeared to be in discussion with someone next to him, and remarked that Millaldo’s eyes were slightly lighter in life than what is shown on the painting.  As a carriage passed by, 197 slipped suddenly away from the clinicians and grabbed hold of the back of the carriage. The carriage driver noticed and the carriage was stopped at once. 197 was brought back inside immediately, but refused to speak to anyone for the rest of the day. Water mixture has been increased to fifty parts extract and supplemental additives will now be administered during midday tea break.  Chief healer has ordered weighted ankle cuffs to be attached in the morning to restrict possibility of further escape attempts.” Maedhros took a deep breath. “I need a little break,” he said as he placed the folder from the clinic and the envelope with the additional items onto the desk and walked to retrieve a glass of wine for himself.

“Maybe I can help to read some of it,” offered Gildor.  He slid off of the arm of the chair and walked to the desk.

“Good luck,” called out Maedhros as he poured the wine.

Gildor picked up the sheet and frowned.  “Fuck. All of it is in Sarati.” Gildor set the sheet down as Maedhros returned.

“That sounds like something my father would say,” joked Maedhros before he took a sip of wine.  He then raised his glass to Erestor. “I salute your attempt to escape that shithole.”

“Unfortunately I am the one who signed on the line to get myself into that shithole,” Erestor smiled wanly. “This is already nothing like I thought this would be. I am honestly really worried right now.”

“Why, Ress?” Glorfindel asked softly, curling his body around his mate’s protectively and to warm him.

“Because I do not remember most anything he has read about so far as happening the way they say it did. This was...I knew it did a number on my head, Fin. But now it looks like it was an entire chorus production, not just a tap-dance.”

Fingon’s eyebrow raised at the analogy, feeling increasingly disturbed.

Maedhros set down the wine glass and picked up the folder again.  “Day 9: 197 found crying in the garden. When questioned, 197 expressed that ‘he wanted to go home.’ Will consult concerning further increases to medication dosage.

Day 10: 197 found urinating on re-education materials in garden.  197 blamed “Millaldo” for incident and appeared distressed. 197 was alone when found.  197 to spend reading time supervised in the future.

Day 11: Appeared calm and compliant throughout all activities. 197 was praised for exemplary behavior.

Day 12: 197 had similar day to yesterday, except was found crying during reading time. When questioned, 197 denied that he was crying and stated that his eyes stung and were watery. Concerned that 197 is unfavorably lethargic; upon consultation with Chief Healer extra physical exercise regimen is to be imposed immediately. 

Day 13: 197 was found sitting alone at breakfast after the bell for classes.  Upon further examination, 197 had collected all uneaten porridge for the morning from other patients and had used it to construct interpretive sculptures of male anatomy on the table.  197 is to be removed from the dining hall immediately after he has finished eating all meals.”

Everyone was gravely silent, until suddenly the silence was broken by laughter.

Erestor’s laughter.

Gildor smiled next.  “Oh, good. Because… I just… penis porridge, Erestor.  I am so proud of you. Pissing on their propaganda was a nice touch, too.”

“Two events in that place I would have liked to remember,” he smiled. “But I cannot. Yet I see no reason for those records to be false.” He shook his head again, as he tried to digest this complete rearrangement of his memories and then shrugged. Turning to Fingon now, he noticed the frown and the worried visage and leaned in to kiss him. “It will be alright, Káno. Somehow.” When Fingon held him tighter, Erestor placed his hands over each of his lovers’ arms and held on.

“I feel as if Gildor is going to applaud you for the next series of entries,” said Maedhros.  He returned to the paper. “Day 14: Patient found on garden bench speaking at length to a butterfly perched on his finger. When questioned, he refused to interact with staff and accused them of ‘rudeness at interrupting a conversation.’

Day 15: Upon investigation of other patient complaints, 197 was found self-pleasuring while staring at the other occupants of the room. Other patients were removed to different sleeping quarters. 197 was warned that removal of blanket would result if further incidents were noted.

Day 16: Semen-stained blanket was removed from 197.”  He looked sideways at Gildor.

Gildor lifted a thumb up, held out in Erestor’s direction.

Erestor chuckled, blushing. Fingon raised an eyebrow, but then reached up to ruffle the glossy black hair. “That is my Ress,” Glorfindel said with pride.

“Day 17: During open exercise, 197 used cricket bat to trip a clinic specialist.  Three other patients and another specialist witnessed the incident. 197 said he was highly involved in the game and did not notice; 197 was several dozen metres out of the cricket playing zone.  When attempt was made to obtain the bat from the 197, he threw it at the head of the clinic specialist who was on the ground. Specialist was treated for injuries to his arms from blocking the bat.  Questioning of others in the courtyard for exercise revealed that no cricket game was currently occurring. Interrogation of 197 revealed he does not know how to play cricket! 197 must be supervised during exercise and is not allowed to use activity equipment!

Day 18: During patient room review, 197’s bed was found to have a blanket on it despite blanket being removed on Day 16.  Blanket discovered to be curtains from room. All curtains removed from 197’s room. Curtains used as blanket by 197 have been burned due to unsanitary staining.   
  


Day 19: During patient room review, 197’s bed was found to have a blanket again.  Blanket was a tablecloth from the dining hall. Until further notice, all tables in the dining hall shall have the tablecloths removed. Upon recommendation from chief clinician, tablecloth has been retained as evidence.”  Maedhros shuffled the next page to the front. “It sounds like you were quite the handful, Uncle.”

“I do not remember any of this,” Erestor replied quietly. “And call me something other than Uncle, Maedhros. I already feel ancient enough.” The mild rebuke was given with humor.

“Hmm.  I always mean it respectfully,” assured Maedhros.  “You always seemed like a brother to my father. What would you prefer?”

Erestor shook his head. “You are my peer, Maedhros, and have more than earned my respect, for what that is worth. I cannot answer that, but everyone else seems to have some name for me. Choose one, or invent your own. They all have,” he grinned looking at the others in the room. Considering the stress he was under, his smile seemed to accent his great beauty in spite of it all.

Maedhros flipped the folder back and held it up to display the name on the front.  “This one is your father-name, right?” His finger tapped below ‘Tatannen’.

“Yes. A name I have not heard in a long time,” Erestor reflected, realizing he was probably about to hear it a great deal more.

“I like it.”  Maedhros flipped back to the sheets within.  “Where did I leave off… ah. Day 20: When 197 did not arrive at dinner on time, in-house security patrol was sent to find him.  197 was discovered in the gardens, sitting on a bench without any clothing on, pleasuring himself. Arrival of the guards caused 197 to become more aroused and he made suggestive offers to one of the guards before climaxing and releasing his seed on the leg and boots of the guard.  Water mixture was immediately increased to 75 parts; 197 refused to dress and was forcibly removed from the garden, bathed, and taken to his room where a guard has been posted. 197 refused food and water, and warned ‘Millaldo’ not to touch it because it is poisoned. Attempt was made to force 197 to hydrate orally, but 197 verbally abused, bit, and scratched several staff members.  Hydration was administered via an enemaic procedure following restraint of 197. Supplemental additives usually taken with food were administered as a suppository. Specialist Illiwë requested reassignment due to ‘blasphemous patient enjoyment of the procedures.’”

“There is something about this, images. Something I remember. I do not recall my scandalous behavior, but them trying to force me to drink...but how can I really know that? It sounds like so many drugs. But the picture in my head is of feeling afraid, and trying to fight. Maybe this was what is described here? I wish I knew.” Erestor leaned forward somewhat as he spoke, enabling Glorfindel to have a clear view of Fingon. His jaw muscles were tensing repeatedly, and the vein that ran down his temple pulsed. It would be very difficult to speak in thought to Fingon without Erestor hearing, so instead he reached and arm over to lay a hand on his shoulder. Agitated eyes met calm blue-green ones, and eventually Fingon sighed, nodding and placing his hand over Glorfindel’s. Erestor never saw any of it.

“In the span of three weeks, they increased the dosage to seven times their usual and customary amount of sedative in the water,” stated Gildor.  “They were giving you some other unknown substance, and who knows what else that is not even listed.” He had spent the majority of the time biting his nails while the documents were read.  Typically well-manicured nails were now shorter and a bit jagged. “A good healer knows not to just keep throwing more drugs at a situation. Why were they doing this?”

“You already have your answer,” said Fingon.  “None of them were good healers.”

“I will not claim to know what you do,” Glorfindel addressed Gildor. “But it seems like this whole thing was the equivalent of shooting a lot of arrows into a grove of trees and hoping to kill something for dinner.”

“As good of a description as any,” Gildor said with a strong note of disgust in his voice. “This is a farce, and from what little I know I suspect it will get worse before the end. I am so sorry, Erri.”

Erestor sighed, and nodded again. “Well, what delights are next?”

“We are nearly to the end of this part.  There are only two more days.” Maedhros focused on the pages again.  “Day 21: Before sunrise, effect of increase in water has finally induced calm in 197.  Before restraints were removed, 197 was given a second dose of supplemental additives. 197 is resting in a relaxed state and will not be attending group sessions.  He is expected to be able to return to regular sessions tomorrow if undesirable behaviour does not return. 

\---

When an attempt was made to retrieve 197 for dinner, 197 was found lying in bed and caressing his pillow during room inspection, seemingly unaware of staff presence, verbalizing plans to escape the facility with ‘Mallaldo.’ 197 has obtained a flour sack with the seams cut to use as a blanket.  ‘Blanket’ was not removed because 197 was unresponsive to staff. Will consult with chief healer regarding water mixture; 197 increasingly seems disconnected from reality--unless this cognitive state can somehow be utilized in his therapy?

Day 22: Upon further consultation with staff, chief healer has elected to enroll 197 in experimental accelerated reconditioning.  Emerging therapy specialist Hyammo has been assigned to care of patient. Patient number will transfer from patient 197 to E-5.” Maedhros looked up.  “After that, what follows is on a different type of paper and written by someone else.”

Erestor looked down. “So I did not imagine Hyammo. Or the basement room. At least, maybe. I had entertained hope that I had that all fucked up too, somehow.”

“It is sadly all very real.  Before I read this next part, there are a few things I would like to state,” said Maedhros as he looked through what was on the next few pages.  “The text is now accompanied with sketches. They are graphic in nature, and while you may wish to view them later, I think it best now to read this and to concentrate upon the content.  Secondly, if anyone wishes me to stop at any time, say the word. This is going to be a much more difficult section to read.”

“I just want to know one thing,” Erestor asked. “Did I imagine that they hurt me? Used rune-stones on me? I think I can hear it all, but I need to know if that was real. If it was not, I might need a few minutes to digest it before you keep going.”

Maedhros set the folder aside a moment and leaned back against the desk.  “They tortured you.” His expression was stoic, eyes piercing. “The moment you arrived, they tortured you, to varying degrees.  They tried to make you submit with fear and mind-altering substances and threats. When that did not work, they used violence. Yes, they used rune-stones.  They used them to torture you. You understand?”

Bowing his head, Erestor answered “Yes” in a barely audible voice, lowering his face into his hands. Fingon brushed away the tears that streaked down his face, determined not to make a sound.  Glorfindel, too, sniffled a little where he sat.

“Tatannen.”  Maedhros approached the sofa and crouched down in front of Erestor.  “They hurt you. They committed so many wrongs. You probably think you are a victim, but what I see is a survivor.  I see someone who is going to emerge from all of this bullshit stronger than he ever was.” Maedhros reached out to squeeze Erestor’s shoulder.

Across the room, Gildor bit at his nails again as he looked at the window in contemplation.

Erestor briefly held Maedhros’ wrist, squeezing it before letting it go. “Thank you,” he said with great sincerity. It was true that he was not falling apart as he once feared he might, but he also knew it was not over with yet. In the midst of this, his eyes fell on Gildor. “Gildor, are you alright?”

Gildor pulled his fingers away from his mouth and tucked his hands under his armpits.  He stared at the ground and shook his head. “It was bad enough to think about what happened to you in Angband.  That was the enemy. No one expected a welcome party. To hear what other Elves did to you sickens me, and then, I realize, I am no better.”  He looked up with watery eyes. “I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I made your life hell, and I gained nothing from it except some perverse temporary satisfaction.”

Erestor rose unsteadily from his nest between his husbands, and sat next to Gildor. Reaching up carefully, he cupped the handsome face that he once loathed between his hands. The face that he once tried to beat senseless. Reaching up, he placed a lingering kiss on Gildor’s brow. “That was in the past. We all had burdens and...issues. Thank you, for what you said. I forgive you, just as others forgave me. You have a place in my heart. All of you here are giving me the strength to hear this. You included.” Carefully he tucked a lock of the flaxen hair behind Gildor’s ear, then brushed away an errant tear with his thumb. Smiling weakly, he rejoined his mates, who immediately fussed with the blanket again. A peace lingered on his face which surprised all of them, none more than Erestor himself.

Maedhros took the folder with him to sit beside Gildor.  “That was very kind of you. I know how hard it is for you to admit you are wrong about something.”  He placed his right arm around Gildor and coaxed him to lean into him. “Well. Now we get to it. As I said; if someone wishes me to stop, say the word.  This is separated into four different phases. I think I will read each phase separately in case we need to go back over something.” Maedhros cleared his throat again before he began.

_ Tatannen Eressë, henceforth described as patient E-5. E-5 was given heavy dose of sedative and relaxant prior to transfer of care and was removed to the Chamber of Purgation. Standard format was observed; clothing removed, restraints placed. E-5 did not wake to coherence until 36 hours elapsed.  _

_ Stage One Notes _

_ Day 23. Session A.  Orientation begun, necessitating placement of viewing aids. Seven lengthened treatment administrations given via use of unnatural image group C, then E-5 cleaned with water as per protocol. Relaxant and amnesiac compound B administered at conclusion of session sublingually during removal of oral protection device. Single standard dosage unless otherwise noted. _

_ Day 23.  Session B... _

“Wait a fucking minute,” Gildor interrupted Maedhros forcefully, standing up with alacrity to find the gin and gesticulating angrily. “What does this shit even mean? ‘Oral protection device? Viewing aids?’” His stare was aimed at Erestor, but Fingon cleared his throat.

“I will try to answer in order to spare Eres, in the hopes that he will correct me if I err. From what he already told us, ‘viewing aids’ was some kind of device designed to force the eyelids open and keep them that way.” Erestor nodded, not looking up, while Glorfindel worriedly stroked his dark head. “The other I think was some kind of mouthpiece made of wood, maybe like a horse’s bit, so that during the ‘treatment administrations,’ which are code for being shocked with a rune-stone, he could not accidentally injure his tongue.”

Gildor’s lips parted and he paled a little. His mouth opened further but then closed again, as he shook his head vehemently. At this point he did not merely pour himself more gin, he took the bottle with him to rejoin Maedhros. “Sorry,” he murmured apologetically to his husband.

“Do not be,” Maedhros said. But...go easy on that, please? We need to be here for Tatannen. All of us. No getting shit-faced, at least not right now.”

“That leaves open the possibility of getting shit-faced later,” Gildor noted. 

“Yes. I love you.” Maedhros leaned in to kiss his lover, pleased that he filled his glass and did not chug the contents down, and replaced the seal on the bottle.

Fingon lifted up Erestor’s chin slightly.  “Sweetheart, I know this is hard to hear. I think it is hard for all of us to hear -- shit, can you imagine if this had become customary?  We all would have ended up in that mess,” he said softly, and Gildor audibly swallowed as Maedhros rubbed his lover’s back. “You look down, but do not do so in shame, my love.  You are so brave, you know. You made it through all of this, and while I cannot speak for the others, I think what you endured would have killed me.”

“Depends on your definition of dead,” Erestor answered quietly, but he did not lower his head again. Instead he rested it on Fingon’s shoulder.

Fingon turned his head to kiss Erestor full on the lips.  “I could not protect you then, but I will now. I am going to keep you safe.  I promise.” Fingon lifted Erestor’s hand and kissed it. 

“You have the favor of the king, and mine,” added Glorfindel as he brushed the dark locks behind Erestor’s ears and kissed him as Fingon had.  “I love you. I will not let harm come to you, so long as I breathe.”

Maedhros understood the cue that he was to continue reading. With a deep breath, he did: 

_ Day 23.  Session B. (Six hours will henceforth be the stated session interval unless otherwise specified). Unnatural image group B, five lengthened treatment administrations. _

_ Day 23. Session C. Unnatural image group A, five lengthened treatment administrations.  Relaxant and amnesiac compound B administered at conclusion of session sublingually during removal of oral protection device. _

_ Day 24. Session A. Unnatural image group B, five lengthened treatment administrations.  Relaxant and amnesiac compound B administered at conclusion of session sublingually during removal of oral protection device. _

_ Day 24. Session B.  Unnatural image group A, six lengthened treatment administrations. _

_ Day 24. Session C. Unnatural image group B, five lengthened treatment administrations.  Relaxant and amnesiac compound B administered at conclusion of session sublingually during removal of oral protection device. _

_ Day 24. Session D. Unnatural image group A, five lengthened treatment administrations. _

_ Day 25. Unnatural image group A, five lengthened treatment administrations. _

_ Day 25. Session B.  Unnatural image group A, six lengthened treatment administrations. _

_ Day 25. Session C. Unnatural image group B, five lengthened treatment administrations.  Relaxant and amnesiac compound B administered at conclusion of session sublingually during removal of oral protection device. _

_ Day 25. Session D. Unnatural image group A, five lengthened treatment administrations.  Stage two to commence with next session. _

“There were stages?” Erestor asked, chuckling and tossing back his head. “This is surreal. Now I want to hear about this stage two, since all I remember were interminably endless sessions of pain, thirst, and hunger.” Gildor scraped his boot heel on the flooring, trying for some means to disperse his growing discomfort, but for now remained content with that. Glorfindel noted morbidly to himself that the gin in Gildor’s glass was half gone.

“I need something to drink,” said Maedhros, and when Gildor offered his glass, he shook his head.  “Water,” he said as he set the folder, open, down on his seat.

Gildor glanced down at it disdainfully as Maedhros crossed the room, but then peered closer.  “Mae Mae, I can read this.” The others straightened suddenly with greater interest. “This is written in Tengwar.”

“Tengwar was not as well known at the time,” said Fingon.  “Whomever wrote it must have been schooled in it, and quite intelligent.”

“Dangerously intelligent.”  Gildor set his glass aside and picked up the folder.  He took a deep breath and read the next section as Maedhros retrieved water for himself. 

Stage Two Notes

Day 26. Session A. Desirable image group F introduced. Female associate T1 administered appropriate manual conditioning to subject, pausing to administer food and water by hand. At this time it was deemed favorable that subject display only her breasts. Male associate M3 initiated standard hypnotic conditioning. Subject displayed encouraging progress when successfully coaxed to suckle on breast concurrent with administration of penile stimulation. After full physical response was elicited, a double dose of compound B was administered at conclusion of session as an oral solution dissolved in water.

Day 26. Session B.  Unnatural image group C.  Delayed reaction from E-5 to the image group.  Nine lengthened treatment administrations. E-5 temporarily unresponsive.  Stimulant and amnesiac compound G administered. Unnatural image group C displayed with immediate reaction.  Three lengthened treatment administrations. E-5 cleaned with water following unexpected elimination.

Day 26. Session C.  Unnatural image group B, four lengthened treatment administrations. Hiatus of twenty minutes, in which female associate T1 repeated administration of basic stimulus protocol. Subject was praised effusively upon fairly rapid favorable response to T1 and was rewarded by oral stimulation to completion. Relaxant and amnesiac compound B administered at conclusion of session via oral solution. 

Day 27. Session A. Relaxant compound D administered orally. Subject left alone to view desirable image group E while medication took effect. Male associate M3 remained unseen while initiating hypnotic protocol. Female associate T1 introduced fully disrobed, and initiated Positive Reinforcement verbal protocol A for ten full minutes while subject was led through guided meditation concerning desirable image group E. When E5 displayed arousal, immediate reward of full body stimulation was administered. E5 is observed to have significant favorable response to stimulation of pectoral erogenous zones. E5 verbalized desire for T1 and was immediately rewarded. Amnesiac compound administered sublingually by T1 following subject climax. E5 became unresponsive five minutes after sedation administered.

Day 28. Precise repeat of Day 27. 

Day 29. Precise repeat of Day 27 with one exception: After initial medication induction but before other protocols, associate T1 hand-fed E5 a reasonable meal portion, rewarding E5 with the choicest foods when he showed favorable interest in her female parts.

Day 30. Session A. Unnatural image group B.  No reaction from E5. Rewarded with promise of spending time with T1 if reactions continue to be favorable.

Day 30. Session B. Unnatural image group C.  No reaction from E5. Continued promise of reward.

Day 30. Session C. Unnatural group A.  Minor reaction from E5 of increased intake of air and request for water.  Female associate T1 permitted to administer water. Half-dose of relaxant and amnesiac compound B administered.  Wrist restraints removed from E5 and silk sheet placed to fully cover E5 from waist to ankles. T1 positioned herself upon E5’s lap facing him.  E5 did not need encouragement to touch T1 and was rewarded for doing so. E5 verbalized desire for T1 and favorable reaction was rewarded with full body stimulation from T1.  Following full physical response, E5 was rewarded with ample food, water, and wine by T1, who also administered a double dose of relaxant and amnesiac compound B. E5 became unresponsive within ten minutes of sedation.

Day 31. Session A.  Unnatural image group C.  No reaction from E5.

Day 31. Session B. Unnatural image group A.  No reaction from E5. Stage three to commence with next session.

Silence fell at the conclusion of this part. Erestor’s hand was over his mouth and his eyes were closed. When they opened, they turned to Glorfindel, with tears pooling in them. “I have lied to you in the past, for which I feel great remorse. Please believe me, I do not remember any of this.” His voice pitched very high and he began to tremble. “I feel sick.” Erestor started to cry even as Glorfindel put his arms around him. “They turned me into some kind of whore, no better than an animal...how could anyone do this to someone else?” he choked out. “How could any elleth participate in something like this? And they say we are the disgusting ones?” A hitched sob wracked his body. “I feel filthy.”

“No, Erestor,” said Gildor firmly.  “You were coerced. You knew not what you did.  You were not willing in your wants and desires. A whore knowingly sleeps with anyone and everyone, and for money and favor.  You are no whore. If anyone is a whore, it would be--”

“Stop, both of you.”  Maedhros set his water upon the nearest table and took the folder from Gildor.  He kissed Gildor’s forehead and sat back down beside him. “I would not use that word for either of you.  Drugs, hypnosis, fear, threats-- and rewards for self-preservation. This is torture. This is madness on their part.  This is, quite honestly, criminal, contract or not. My father was sanctioned for drawing a sword against his brother, a relationship contaminated by the worst sibling rivalry at the time, and he was sent away for years, reputation forever tarnished.  Yet these so-called healers deliver direct pain and harm, and are saved from judgement by a contract? I think not-- I intend to return to the mainland and see to it that someone answers for this, not least of all this bastard Hyammo.”

“Cupcake, he is right. And I for one will not let you think that about yourself--”

“No!” Erestor shouted at him. “You do not understand. You were not around me then. All those women I tried to seek a relationship with. All the thoughts I had toward them. I told myself I was seeking a marriage partner but everything was wrong! Everything I was doing traces back to...that. And none of them wanted me. I think they knew, when I did not. I…” Now he stared at nothing, as the parade of his past love interests marched before his unseeing eyes.

“Ress,” Glorfindel spoke sharply, breaking Erestor’s reverie. “Listen to me.” Still Erestor stared ahead, until Glorfindel’s hand gripped under his jaw and turned his head. “Listen to me,” he said again, his eyes simmering with anger. “This is hard because it is horrible. But everyone else here is right. This was done to you. I am no master healer but even I know they poured enough drugs into you to addle an oliphaunt. Nothing different could have happened, from the moment you set foot in that snake pit. None of this is your fault. Now we can sit here. I am still stronger than you are, and we are going nowhere until you agree to stop this. I will make it simple; I will not stand by and let you do this to yourself. That is in the past. I love you and...it is not going to happen. So are we going to have a contest, or can we make this simple and you do as I ask? I was there for most all of it, love. I know what you did and now I finally understand why. And still all I care about is you. I love you. My Ress.”

Rarely had any kind of speech of this nature been heard from Glorfindel. Briefly, Erestor turned his eyes to see Fingon, whose arms were crossed as he gave every indication he stood with Glorfindel. 

“You really mean it,” Erestor asked somewhat wonderingly, as a hard obstinacy dominated Glorfindel’s features. Still holding Erestor’s jaw quite firmly, the blond nodded, not breaking eye contact.

“Then it appears I have little choice,” Erestor capitulated, digesting the realization that no matter how badly he wished to emotionally flog himself, he was no match for both of his mates. His body relaxed suddenly as he surrendered. “As you wish, Fin. I will try my best, but I still feel humiliated. Please at least allow me that.”

Now Glorfindel shook his head as he continued to stare at Erestor. Across the room, Maedhros watched this exchange in open fascination, his hand on Gildor’s knee to silence him should it prove necessary. 

“I do not know how else to feel,” Erestor cried, suddenly breaking down again. “Please? I...this is...I do not know what to do.” Glorfindel released Erestor’s chin and pulled him close, because he himself was at a loss for what to say. His mind was a turmoil of anger and the desire to protect his mate, and much of his effort was being exerted in the struggle to guard his thoughts.

Nearby, Gildor nudged Maedhros, and whispered something briefly to him.  Maedhros nodded and looked directly at Erestor. “Tatannen, you are an amazing, beautiful, intelligent, homosexual man that someone tried to corrupt.  Ultimately, they did not succeed, did they? You have such a loving family, two men who care so deeply for you, one of whom I know will give his very life for you if it came to it, and one who already did.  You won, Erestor, not those would-be healers. You may have lost battles, but you won the war, Erestor. You did. Not them. You. You won.”

“Erri, you impressed me constantly,” said Gildor.  “If I were to describe you to someone, I would say clever, and caring, with an extraordinary amount of wit and wisdom.  You are proud and strong and you overcame much, and I am deeply ashamed that I added to that hurt. I should have had the sense to step back and consider what I knew about you.”  Gildor ran his hands through his hair. “That anyone could do these things to someone and use the title ‘healer’ is shocking. These were not healing methods.”

Fingon found his voice. “I might have the answer to your question, cupcake. Fin is right, we will not let you take that shame and recrimination onto yourself, because it never was yours in the first place. But as to how you should feel? Russandol is right. Victorious. You call yourself often a coward and yet really the title ‘Valiant’ belonged to you all along. I am proud to know that I am yours, and grateful that you are mine. We will all get through whatever else is in that packet. We believe you; no one here thinks you are lying. But I think we should take a little while. Refresh ourselves, eat and drink a little. Then I think we should do something, all five of us.”

“Oh?” Gildor quipped, instantly curious. 

“Yes, oh,” Fingon smiled. “I want us all to kneel in a circle. All of us facing the same direction. Each of us gives a shoulder and neck massage to the person in front of them, for about ten minutes. It is just a nice thing, and is well-known to help create cohesion as well as restore a sense of well-being.  We used to do that on just about every gymnastics team I was ever on.”

“Oh.” Gildor sounded a little disappointed. “Nothing even a little kinky, there.”

Fingon stared at Maedhros. “Does he ever let up? Even a teeny bit?”

Maedhros shrugged apologetically. “Not very often. But, I kind of like that about him.”.

“Alas,” Fingon breathed. “Every pot indeed has its lid.” But he did offer Gildor the first choice of fruit, by way of conciliation.

“Sounds like fun, though,” said Gildor as he selected a peach, and then, an apple.  The apple he tossed in the air and caught a few times as he walked to Glorfindel and Erestor, and the peach he held out to the dark beauty.

Erestor smiled.  “Thank you.” He contemplated the piece of fruit and said, “After all I have heard, I question much about myself, but at least I know this is something that is ‘me’.”  He bit into the peach as Glorfindel smiled and kissed the side of his head after a nuzzle at his hair.

Gildor turned back around to look at Fingon.  “Can I be the one to rub your back?” he asked before he bit into the apple.  “Just, hands, I promise. No tongue.” He winked.

Fingon glared. “Add in a promise not to try to arouse me in a carnal manner and yes, I will agree. The point of the exercise is to relax, and if you do not do as I ask I will end up anything but relaxed. Well?” His eyebrow arched at Gildor.

Gildor frowned.  “You really are a spoilsport,” he said.

Erestor cleared his throat.  “Actually… uhm, if I might be so bold… Gildor gives really great massages, and I…”

“Me?  You? Do that thing on the back of your neck you like?” offered Gildor.

“Oh… you remember the neck thing… yes.  Please.” 

“My pleasure,” said Gildor with a little bow.  “At least someone appreciates my magic fingers,” he said, and playfully stuck his tongue out at Fingon.

Erestor glanced guiltily between Glorfindel and Fingon.  “Sorry.”

“And I apologize up front for whomever sits in front of me,” Maedhros said sadly as he looked down at his single hand.

“I want to,” Glorfindel said immediately. Of all those here, he had never been touched by Maedhros that he could recall. “There is a technique that I like very much for the muscles behind my shoulder blade, for which elbows are needed. Not hands.” He smiled warmly.

Maedhros gave one of his rare smiles back.  “I think I might be able to… HANDle that.”

“Why is it,” spoke up Gildor, “that when I do it, it is in bad taste, but you say something like that, you giggle like a child over it?”

Maedhros snickered away his giggle.  “I am struggling to come up with a comeback that uses pointing fingers, but I have nothing.”  He pointed at Fingon.

“What?” Fingon’s voice was muffled from the banana he was eating.

“Me behind Glorfindel, and you behind me.”  As Maedhros came over to choose an apple as well, he whispered to Fingon, “Besides, I get the feeling you always wanted at least one chance to get behind me.”

While Maedhros grinned and winked, Gildor said, “As you can see, I have rubbed off on him.  A lot.”

Eyes narrowing, Fingon planned his retort. “Do not think I am oblivious to your little entendres,” he admonished. And now that he had Maedhros’ attention, he proceeded to lavish quite a lot of affection on the remainder of the banana while the redhead gaped at him. “What, never seen anyone eat fruit before?”

“Not like that, Fin,” Maedhros drawled.  Gildor licked his lips unconsciously.

Glorfindel cleared his throat.  “So, to make this work, Gildor is behind Erestor, then I would need to be behind Gildor, and Maedhros behind me, and then Fingon, and then Erestor behind Fingon.”

“Do we at least get to take our shirts off first?” asked Gildor.  “You know, for… better circulation.”

For an answer, Glorfindel whisked his tunic off and tossed it onto the sofa, finding a cushion and sitting down on it. Soon the others arranged themselves in the agreed-upon order, and hands slowly began exploring the flesh in front of them. Some, like Fingon, chose to lay their hands immediately and slowly take the measure of the muscles and bones. Others (Gildor came to mind) launched immediately upon a particular agenda.

Glorfindel cleared his throat. “I cannot help thinking that even though this is time to relax, perhaps we could briefly change the conversational topic to...all of us. Maybe living here together. And what that would...well, all the things. But it could also wait,” he hastened to add, as he caressed Gildor’s smooth skin for the first time in who even could recall when.

“We have two poodles and a capybara,” stated Gildor.  “I am not sure how all of you feel about that, but we are a package deal.”

“Damn.  I thought this was a good way to be rid of Stinky,” said Maedhros.

Gildor rolled his eyes.  “You love Stinky. You play with him all the time.”

“Only because your poodles are too vain to fetch,” Maedhros countered.

“We like dogs,” Fingon noted. “But the rule is we clean up whatever they leave anywhere near the house and bury it. As for the other, it cannot be stranger than a few of the things that have dwelled here in the past years.” A certain white aberration of a domestic fowl came to mind, which he shuddered and worked to forget. “As you know, we have the dog, and the hounds, and Fin has Asfaloth, and felines come and go.” He paused for a moment. “There are many rooms. You could choose whatever one or ones suits you, if there are others you prefer more than your current choice.”

“It would be nice to be close, but have a little more privacy.  Right now, we can hear most anything that happens in your rooms,” admitted Maedhros.

“Already mentioned that,” said Gildor.  “I worry about all of my stuff. How to transport it, if to transport it… and our house, of course, on the mainland.  I have no idea what we should do with that.”

“We can charter a boat,” Maedhros said.  “We keep the house because sometimes the five of us might end up on holiday on the mainland.  The rest we can figure out.”

“I want you here.”  Erestor surprised himself with his revelation, and how loud he offered it.  He took a breath and said, “I know that sounds awfully selfish of me, but…” He had to move one hand away from Fingon’s back to wipe sudden tears away.  “I always wanted to be part of a big family, like all of the rest of you have, and…”

Gildor was the first to comfort him, because he was in the best position to do so. He pulled Erestor back against his body and held him. “I think we will find a way,” he said very gently. “Please do not become upset. Not about this. I want to help you, Erri, and not only out of guilt for my past misdeeds. I really believe we could all be good together.” Rocking him, gradually he returned to soothingly massaging his neck and shoulders. “Everything will be well in the end.”

Fingon listened to the words exchanged behind him and swallowed hard while his hands aimlessly squeezed thumbs into the small indentations between Maedhros’ spinal processes. This was going to happen. This was going to happen because Eressë needed it, and therefore whatever his trepidations about Gildor’s wagging tongue or far too many jokes about sex, he would find a way. Not all sacrifices were ones made out on a battlefield. “Maitimo?” he asked, very quietly.

Words caught in Maedhros’ throat for a moment to hear that name on Fingon’s lips.  “Yes, darling?” he asked just as softly, using the endearment his mind linked to being called thus.

“This will boil down to you.”

“What will?”  Maedhros had continued his task, a deep tissue massage for Glorfindel, the entire time that all of the discussion had occurred, and he did not stop now.

“Living here, dear. I would do anything for Eres.” Fingon emphasized, pressing extra hard out of distraction into the sensitive small muscles and ligaments that attached the lower spine to the hips.

Maedhros hissed at the unexpected change in pressure.  Abandoning his work on Glorfindel, he spun around and almost too easily captured both of Fingon’s wrists with his hand.  His wrist poked against Fingon’s chest. “Keep mindful of what these hands are doing, Findekáno. You might give a man the wrong idea.”  He let go so that he could twist one of the braids round and around his fingers so that Fingon had no choice but to lean in closer which Maedhros gave a tug on his hair.  “I once knew a man who pledged to do anything he could for me. I think it only right the favor be returned.” Maedhros breathed in the scent of the perfume on Fingon’s hair before he turned his hand to let the braid unravel and swing back down.  He then took hold of just one of Fingon’s hands, and bowed his head to kiss it. “I am at your service, my king.”

“A simple Yes would have sufficed,” he said softly, but his free hand could not resist stroking the beautiful red hair as a range of long-buried emotions rekindled. “With all my heart, thank you.” A very happy Fingon sat there, and grinned, not really knowing what else to do.

Maedhros kissed Fingon’s forehead.  “I ask only one thing. Should you suddenly have the desire to cut off your hair again, just warn me first.”

Gildor snickered.  “You should have heard him that first time we came to visit.  He must have asked me ‘why’ about fifty times.”

“That was complicated,” Fingon chuckled. “But necessary. I would do it again if there was a need, but I do not think there will be.”

“I feel very relaxed,” announced Gildor.  “I hate to remind everyone of our intent, but perhaps we can move to a more comfortable place to resume our reading through the notes.  Is there a room with a really large bed? Not for doing things that people probably think I am going to suggest we do because this is me suggesting this but just for being together in a nice soft relaxing place.”

“I...would like that,” Fingon said, surprised to hear the words coming from his mouth. “I promise that no matter what I will not flee the room. All four of you have permission to sit on me should I appear to be succumbing to temptation otherwise.”

“I would too,” Erestor said in a subdued voice. “Though part of me does not wish to believe there is worse yet to hear, I suppose I should not tempt fate.”

“That is the Ress I know,” Glorfindel smiled, kissing and hugging him as he rose to his feet and brought Erestor with him. “Shall we bring all the food and beverages?”

“Oh yes, honey,” Gildor winked. “And more beverages after that.”

“Tea,” Fingon said firmly. “You all get set up.”

“Instead of relocating to another room, why not bring a few of the smaller mattresses into this room, and we can make a nest in here with some blankets and pillows and… Fingon, why are you making that face at me?” asked Maedhros.

“Because my love is fastidious and has preferences that exceed our slobby bachelor-like ways,” Erestor elucidated. “So I would counter that if he would indulge us, we can perhaps pleasantly favor him with our ability to create an appealing spot. Please, love?”

Blinking hard, Fingon knew the battle was lost. “I can deny you nothing,” he muttered, shaking his head and smiling before he turned. “So be it. Surprise me. I shall return.”

When Fingon returned with a tray containing hot water, steaming milk, and everything needed for tea and hot chocolate, he found that a sofa had been relocated close to the wall.  There were now a total of three mattresses shoved together and covered with ample quilts and blankets, and heaped with pillows. A large sheet had been used to create a barrier overhead, draped from the tops of the bookshelves down to the back of the couch.  There were vases scattered around the mattresses, each containing a small handful of gleaming, glowing Fëanorian gems to create a soft light in the temporary haven. “This is much cuter than I expected it to be.”

“We are civilized creatures,” defended Gildor.  “Even if we do things like this.” And he belched loudly, which only encouraged Maedhros to do the same in answer.

“Mating call of the buffoons,” muttered Fingon as he set down the tray.  Glorfindel swallowed down the belch he had almost let loose. This somehow caused him to inadvertently pass wind instead, and he looked up at Fingon with wide eyes.  A moment later, both Gildor and Maedhros burst out laughing, and Erestor chuckled a little.

“Forgive me,” Glorfindel told Fingon, cheeks already flaming red. “That did not proceed as planned. Wait. I, er, I...oh, fuck.” He buried his face in his hands. “Sorry.” 

Gildor began laughing uncontrollably, and even Fingon had to smile. “I am certain I can find other things to worry about, though your manners and courtesy are appreciated.” He lowered himself to kneel on the mattress near Glorfindel while Gildor attempted to recover himself. Fingon daintily spread out a tea towel in front of himself and offered neatly folded ones to the others so that they could do the same. He smoothed the edges of his towel with his hands until it was absolutely perfect.

“Where are the doilies, my dear?” asked Maedhros as he picked up an empty teacup and stuck his pinky out.

“If I wanted your sass, I would have asked for it,” scolded Fingon.

“Oh, but giving is so much better than receiving, and I wish to give all my sass to you, oh dearest cousin,” said Maedhros.

“Save a little sass for me,” said Gildor as he shook out a towel and dropped it with less finesse in his general vicinity.

“I might want Maedhros’ sass,” Erestor said affably, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He did not notice that everyone was staring openly at him.  

“Tatannen, I have only just stopped calling you ‘Uncle,’ are we really ready to take our relationship to that level?” Maedhros asked, not skipping a beat.

Fingon and Erestor looked at each other blankly, but Glorfindel had to cover his mouth to giggle. When he recovered a bit, he chided Erestor. “Sweetling, I am afraid you will have to content yourself with Glorfindel’s sass. The other is spoken for.”

“I am old, weary, and under duress. Shame on you whippersnappers,” Erestor retorted, crossing his arm. “Children these days. Hmpf.”

“That is his way of saying, keep reading the damn file,” Fingon added, pleased that his initial lack of understanding had gone unnoticed and that for once the joke was not on him.

Once everyone was served tea or hot chocolate, Maedhros settled comfortably to keep reading.  “By the way,” Maedhros said as an afterthought, “you are not that much older than Fingon and I,” he reminded Erestor.  “Not compared to these kids here who never saw light-up trees before.”

“Mae Mae, throw him a bone,” Gildor chided. “And I do not mean the kind I usually mean.”  He leaned closer to Glorfindel, but spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. “And I *was* born in Valinor, he just forgets that sometimes.  You know how it is dealing with old people.” Gildor tossed his hair over his shoulder with flourish. “So sad when they reach this forgetful stage…”

Erestor leaned back, crossed his eyes, and stuck his tongue out at Gildor, while shielded from view behind Glorfindel’s body. Fingon cleared his throat. “I think we should start that reading now,” he said smoothly, offering Erestor a cup of hot cocoa while with the other hand extended tea to Gildor.

Maedhros gave a nod and shuffled the sheets.  “I think we left off with the second stage, but correct me if I am wrong.”  And Maedhros began to read the text of the detailed reports again.

Stage Three Notes

Day 31. Session C. Relaxant compound D administered orally.  Subject released from restraints and taken by female associate T1 to Alcove of Eru’s Favor.  Male associate M3 and female associate T7, disguised as male, were already engaged in favorable relations on a simple mattress in the center of the room.  E5 was allowed free movement within the room. Initial visual contact was brief as E5 turned the chair he was given to sit in towards the opposite wall. M3 and T7 were directed to give verbalizations to emulate unfavorable relations.  When E5 displayed arousal, he initiated self-discipline with a belt discarded by M3 before treatment needed to be administered. After arousal subsided, E5 was immediately removed from Alcove of Eru’s Favor and returned to the Chamber of Purgation.  E5 was rewarded with meager amounts of food and water by T1, and was administered a triple dose of relaxant and amnesiac compound B via oral solution. Seventeen wounds were found on his back and fourteen on his torso. E5’s wounds were tended to and a cot was brought for him.  E5 to remain heavily sedated until wounds fully heal and is to be alternated between a prone and supine position.

Day 32. E5 remains in need of rest and continues to be sedated.

Day 33. No change. 

Day 34. All self-inflicted wounds have healed.  E5 was returned to the examination chair and restraints reapplied.  

Session A.  Relaxant compound D administered orally. E5 shown Unnatural group B. Male associates M3 and Q4 entered the room hooded but otherwise fully nude and aroused. E5 became agitated necessitating the application of viewing aids. E5 required full head restraint to ensure immobility. M3 and Q4 enacted affectionate behavior with each other. E5’s agitation worsened. Subject incessantly vocalized pleas to be permitted to turn away. Before emotional response could become too protracted second dosage of relaxant compound D was administered orally concurrent with introduction of T1. M3 continued to interact with T1, which in turn resulted in immediate elimination of agitation from E5. Arousal followed within a matter of minutes. Wrist restraints and visual aids were removed. E5 eagerly began self-pleasuring and was allowed to climax. Subject was praised, given extra ration of food and hydration before amnesiac compound B was administered.

Day 34. Session B. Repetition of Session A, with the exception that E5 was required to watch much longer and more sexually focused display between M3 and Q4. The beginnings of arousal were accompanied by violent pulling against restraints. Display cut short due to the severity of contusions forming at points of restraint. E5 loudly vocalized demands for removal of Q4 and introduction of T1. Subject was granted this and behavior proceeded as in Session A.

Day 35. Unnatural image group A, no reaction.

Day 35. Session B.  Unnatural image group A,  no reaction.

Day 35. Session C. Unnatural image group C,  no reaction.

Day 35. Session D. Unnatural image group A,  no reaction.

Day 36. Unnatural image group C, no reaction.

Day 36. Session B.  Unnatural image group B,  no reaction.

Day 36. Session C. Restraints removed.  Unnatural image group C, no reaction.

Day 36. Session D. Unnatural image group A,  no reaction. Cot brought for E5 to rest upon for the night.

Day 37. Session A. E5 taken back to the chair and restraints reapplied before full consciousness regained.  Desirable image group F, positive reaction. Restraints removed and reward of food and five minutes time unrestricted with T1 given.

Day 37. Session B.  Unnatural image group A,  no reaction.

Day 37. Session C. Desirable image group G,  positive reaction. Stage four to commence with next session.

  
  


Erestor blinked and shook his head all throughout this. Occasionally this was interspersed with glances at Fingon or Glorfindel, who watched him more than anything else. When Maedhros finished reading, all of their eyes were on him. “It may be hard to believe, but I still recall none of this.  It is as if I am being told a story about another person, not me. To know it is me makes me ill. To know I was coerced to--”

“You were abused,” Fingon said firmly.  “You were sexually abused, and I would go so far as to call it rape.  They had no right to do this, contract or not. This was wrong.” Fingon looked to have more to say, but Glorfindel was now soothingly rubbing his back with one hand, and Fingon shook his head and looked down.  “I need some air.” He crawled out of the makeshift tent, but did not leave the room. Instead, he went to the nearest window and opened it. “I am tempted to ask you to go get your pipe, Fin, to help calm me down,” called out Fingon once he leaned out the window.

“I will, in five minutes, if you still wish it,” Glorfindel answered, unwilling to leave Erestor quite so soon. “Ress, I feel like I want to ask you a question, but I also worry that this is not the right time, so soon after learning all of this.”

Erestor’s chin rested on his drawn-up knees; he appeared surprisingly relaxed and enjoying the soothing touches. “A question from you can hardly be more peculiar than anything I have just heard,” he answered. “Ask away.”

Glorfindel’s eyes darted to Fingon, but he was looking out the window. Taking a deep breath, he decided to go through with his query. “After we began a relationship. After we bonded. All those times you would flirt with ellith and not even seem to know why or understand your own behavior...it would make a lot of sense to me, in view of this, that you were acting out what they did to you. While I am saying this I now realize you probably cannot give me an answer, but I cannot help wondering if this, all this,” he gestured toward the papers Maedhros held, “is why.”

Gildor was sipping his tea thoughtfully when something seemed to fall into place in his head.  “Several times, those notes mention hypnotism. I am not an expert by any means, but my training included hypnotism as a technique to use with patients.  If you were comfortable with it, Erestor, I could try to use the technique to help you try to remember -- to help you unlock those memories. I completely understand if you need time or if the answer is no -- if I were you, I would never want to deal with another therapist or mind healer ever again.  I also feel I should be apologizing on behalf of my profession.”

In a flash, Fingon was back on the mattress nest and was gripping Gildor’s shoulder tightly.  “What the fuck do you mean, ‘my profession’?”

Gildor grimaced and got his hand under Fingon’s fingers to ease up his grip.  “There is not much call for wandering juggling tour guides of Middle-earth who do not know their way around Valinor,” said Gildor.  “When I sailed, the first thing I did was seek out my parents, and the first thing they did was insist I have the formal schooling I missed by leaving this place as a youth.  I chose to study medicine and psychology, and then abnormal psychology, and then psychiatry, and--”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” said Fingon as his hand drifted away.  Erestor groaned, and Glorfindel appeared both saddened and bemused.

“What?”  Gildor looked to Maedhros, who shrugged.

“I wanted us to find someone to see. All three of us,” Glorfindel answered. “Because all three of us have had our struggles, and I worried for our future together in terms of wanting to be forward-thinking about having help before our respective pasts could rear themselves and possibly cause problems for us. Something like that. Our attempt to find someone was...uhm…”

“Faelion turned out to be their star practitioner,” Fingon said acidly. “On the upside, I did not punch him. On the downside, we obviously refused to have anything to do with it.”

“Oh, Faelion.  He tried to school me a few times when we encountered each other,” said Gildor as he stirred his tea.  “He has been coming to conferences and councils more and more, and one day he attempted to explain to me a technique I and three others developed.  It would almost have been amusing, except it was not.”

“Did you punch him?” asked Erestor, with an undisguised tone of hopefulness in his voice. “Oh, wait. I suppose that would be unprofessional,” he said morosely.

“I wish I had,” admitted Gildor.  “A good sock in the mouth would have shut him up a lot sooner.”

“We did steal his reservation one night,” recalled Maedhros.

“Oh, right!”  Gildor bounced a moment with glee and almost upended his tea.  “Mae Mae overheard him mentioning that he had a reservation for himself, his wife, and two colleagues, and so we went to the establishment, which is known to be very busy, and brought two friends with us, and arrived a little earlier, and gave them his name.  When he showed, it was busy, and someone else was leading people in, and they told him he had to wait. I did wave to him and blow him kisses,” said Gildor proudly. “The food was terrible, but it was worth it!”

Erestor rose up from his chair, with an extremely odd look on his face, and crawled to Gildor. Carefully, he held his face, kissed him on the lips, and crawled back.

“He thinks he loves you,” Glorfindel said, electing to out the dark one’s current thought.

“No fair telling him what I am thinking,” Erestor murmured, flopping down so that his head rested in Glorfindel’s lap.

“Well, that sassy bitch knows I love him, but I still want to paddle his ass for what he did to my pretty face back in Rivendell.  I guess I will settle for a kiss to make it all better,” said Gildor.

“You are both just lucky I am not a jealous man,” remarked Maedhros as he positioned himself so that he was on his stomach.

“Besides that, I do not think it would work out the way you hope,” Glorfindel offered, feeling quite cheeky. “He loves being spanked.”

“Fin! That is not fair!” Erestor said, sitting up in a hurry. 

“Why, because now he will probably want to more than ever?” the golden-haired elf chuckled.

“Oh, honey-baby, you think this is new information for me?”  Gildor settled down next to Maedhros with his elbow on the mattress and chin on his fist.  “Erri, there is no reason to play coy about it. I think at this point, everyone knows that you and I were playing variations of hide the pickle at one point in our lives.”

A sudden crack punctuated Gildor’s words, and also made him flinch, yet groan softly.  It had come from Maedhros suddenly reaching beside him to smack Gildor once on his ass, and hard.  “Stop it,” he scolded. “I might not be jealous, but someone here is.” He nudged Gildor’s arm and nodded in the direction of Fingon.

With the slightest frown on Fingon’s face, his emotions seemed conflicted.  “We need to address the drawing of lines. I am an open person who likes the companionship of multiple people and has an unconventional and accepting view of sensuality, and I may be a polygamist--”

“You are a polygamist,” Maedhros said.  “No maybe in there, sweetie.”

Fingon bit his thumb at Maedhros before he continued.  “My point is, if someone is going to spank my darkling husband, it better damned well be someone he is sharing his bed with.”

“So… how many people fit in your bed?” asked Gildor with a sassy grin. 

Once again Maedhros gave Gildor a hearty smack.  “You are really asking for it.”

“Asking?  I am begging,” drawled Gildor.  “I have no idea what ‘it’ even is, but if it is something you are giving me, you know I want it, you beautiful son-of-a-bitch.”  Gildor nipped at Maedhros’ ear.

“Káno, I ask your pardon,” Erestor said, guilt written all over his face. “My kissing Gildor started this, though I did not mean it as other than an emphatic gesture about Faelion.” He drew in a large volume of air and rapidly released it. “Gildor, there is something we are going to have to figure out, despite you being....you. Your husband is not polyamorous. At this exact moment, I do not know precisely where either of my mates feels the limits should lie. Some of us were lovers of others of us. I think I feel safe in saying that no one here is going to object to any sort of exchange of platonic affection. But beyond that...I am the last one who wants to make a bunch of rules, but if our arrangement cannot conform to the comfort level of the most conservative one of us, then this will end up a disaster. Am I wrong?” he asked the others in the room.

Fingon ran a hand over his hair and sighed.  “Eres, I apologize. I--”

“He is the most protective lover you will ever know,” said Maedhros.  “This one summer we brought him with us on holiday--”

“Oh, shit, you are not going to tell them about that,” Fingon said warningly.

“Yes, I am,” Maedhros shot back, hardly intimidated.  “Father took the whole family to visit Grandfather Mahtan and Grand-mama, and he told Maglor and I we could each bring a friend, and I do not know who the fuck Maglor brought, but I of course named Fingon.  And we all went up there, and just at the bottom of the hill where the house was, there was another house and the family who lived there had a daughter my age that Maglor and I would spend time with when we were there.  He was off with whomever it was who came with him, so I paid a few calls upon her, just to be friendly because I enjoyed her wit. Somewhere along the line, Fingon cornered my father and convinced him, in the course of a single afternoon, to buy the property, evict the family, and keep it for future holidays.”

Fingon sat listening, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring.  “They get the point.”

Maedhros continued as if he had heard nothing.  “Never mind that my grandparents on my mother’s side had a house big enough to house us all even if my parents had twice as many children as they had.  Never mind that we all wanted to be in that house because we loved our grand-mama because she was the ONLY grandmother we had. Never mind that the fucking house only had four rooms and we all would have killed each other living in a single bedroom!  Somehow, my father thought this was an excellent idea, and I had to sit through a dinner and a breakfast listening to him praising Fingon’s merit and thinking skills and lord knows what else, and then, THEN, that afternoon -- and this part you do not know, so listen up, little one,” Maedhros directed to Fingon, “that afternoon, my father corners ME to ask why I am being so grumpy, and I will not answer, and he shook his head at me and said that you had done such a good job with your business advice that did I not think that you perhaps had earned a nice blow job, and did that not just cheer me up every time anyhow, and off I should go?  Do any of you have any idea how… too much it is for your father to make suggestions about your seemingly hidden sex life?”

Gildor began to raise his hand, but then lowered it just as quickly.  “No, I do not count, my sex life was not hidden,” he recalled.

“I may regret this later, but just what did Finrod do that make you react?” asked Maedhros.

“Oh, well… my fiftieth brithday,” Gildor recalled fondly.  “My mother was not with us at that point, and he threw me a lovely party, and at the end of the night when it was just the two of us, he handed me a lovely wooden box, wrapped in blue paper with a big sloppy bow on it.  My first sexual pleasuring aid, and he told me if it was the wrong size and I wanted a bigger one, he and I would go together the next day to the artisan who crafted it for him. He just… he really knew me.” Gildor said.

“What was her name?”  It was a question from Erestor directed to Maedhros, who looked confused.  “The girl at the bottom of the hill. What was her name?”

“I do not fucking remember,” answered Maedhros.  “I do not even remember the color of her hair, or her eyes, or if she even had eyes.  The only person I was paying that much attention to was that extremely covetous hazel-eyed kitten over there,” Maedhros said, and his finger accused even though no one needed him to point at Fingon in that moment.  “And I just let it go because I loved him just that much and I understood that while he wanted more than one toy to play with, he also wanted no other children in the park to play with the toys he had collected.”

“How elegantly put,” answered Fingon, cheeks burning.

“Please come here,” Erestor whined at Fingon, reaching his arms toward him. When his wish had been granted, Erestor settled himself against Fingon’s side, holding onto him while his feet nestled into Glorfindel’s lap. “You do not have to be embarrassed about that. I will gladly do whatever you want me to, love. What matters to me is your happiness.”

A look of concern washed over Fingon’s face, and Glorfindel glanced up with his own amount of worry in his eyes.  Before either of them could speak, though, Gildor sat back up again. “I am going to be serious. At least for a moment.  It might not last particularly long.” Gildor folded his hands and collected his thoughts. “Fingon, it is obvious that you care a great deal about those you are closest to.  The word ‘polyamorous’ has also surfaced this evening. I want to hear your reaction to a hypothetical situation. Let us say that you meet someone, someone you grow close to.  Both Glorfindel and Erestor like them well enough, but not with the interest of a relationship in mind, but they give their blessing if you wish to pursue this person in addition to them.  How do you think you would react?”

“I, uhm…” his cheeks flushed anew, as he massaged his forehead. “I want to think that I would not pursue, but everything about how my life has gone to date would belie that. I would worry about taking time from Fin and Eres. I would worry that it would dilute our relationship. I would worry--”

“Tell him what you think you would do,” Glorfindel said, placing a hand on his knee.

Fingon’s head drooped. “With their blessing, I would keep going. That feels shameful to admit, but Russandol is right. I want all the toys. I always have.”

“Can I really blame you?  I like toys, too.” Gildor cleared his throat.  “Now. What if it was a little different. What if years from now, Glorfindel came to you and Erestor and said that he had met someone so very lovely, and the person was absolutely not like that asshole Faelion, and while you and Erestor liked him well enough, neither of you wished to pursue a relationship.  Would you give your blessing to Glorfindel?”

Silence filled the room. It lingered, and grew awkward. Finally Fingon answered. “I have sat here trying to convince myself that I would when I know that I would not. They both promised themselves to me, and--” his head shook as his eyes pooled with tears. “And I would not, and I feel like a complete asshole.”

Gildor whipped a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to Fingon.  “One more question, to see how you answer, before I give you the answer. You were adamant about not letting anyone else spank Erestor, except perhaps Glorfindel,” said Gildor.  “You spent time in your youth in the casual, sensual company of others -- some friends, but acquaintances more likely -- allowed by your lover to do so. You admitted to me with all others here as witnesses that you are feeling some attraction toward me, and you did not push me away when I flung myself upon you the other day.  Why do you have the reaction you do about the standards that Erestor, and presumably Glorfindel, should follow, but a different standard set for yourself?”

Wide-eyed, Fingon turned his head to stare at Erestor, who was not looking up, but holding his hand and rubbing around Fingon’s ring of marriage in gentle, rhythmic motions. “Control? Maybe? I am not fully certain. I mean, maybe it is just me being a total narcissist. They have me, what else could they possibly want? Wait, that sounded better in my head.” A groan escaped him. “Now I am a hypocritical asshole on top of everything else. Shit. Maybe at the end of it, I just want everything comfortable for me as long as I think the others have enough. Am I really that selfish?” he asked softly, seeing that Maedhros watched him intently.

Maedhros drew his mouth into a thin line.  “I mean… this is hard for me to answer… you did throw down an entire theatre upon me after stating that if you could not have me as you wished, then no one would.”

“Forgot about that,” mumbled Fingon.  “Sorry,” he said as he shrunk down.

Maedhros shrugged.  “You missed,” he said, and he gave a little smile.

“It did not miss me,” Glorfindel said softly, with a crooked smile.

“Maybe you could try to answer this question, which, I think will be a little easier,” said Gildor as he turned to Maedhros.  “Mae Mae, what is your official royal title?”

“Fuck if I know.  Do I even have one?” he asked no one in particular.

“You do,” said Gildor.  “We can get to that later.  How about Erestor. You have a few of them -- care to enlighten the rest of us?”

Erestor only frowned.  “There was something once about the Prince of Tol Eressëa.”

Gildor gave him a moment before he lifted a hand.  “That is all you recall? Hmm. Well, something at least.  Glorfindel?”

“Why would I--”

“Because all of us are descended of the House of Finwë, except Erestor, and he comes from the other royal house, so everyone here is royalty, and all of us have titles, and no, I cannot really remember mine, there is something about being a duke in there, and a lord, but, pfff… and that takes us to Fingon.”  Gildor set his eyes upon Fingon.

Fingon swallowed hard and closed his eyes.  “Are you going to make me say it?”

“You are going to do that yourself,” said Gildor.

And after swallowing a second time, chin elevated slightly, Fingon recited, “Prince Findekáno Fingolfinion Finwëion of Tirion upon Túna; His Royal Majesty, the Sixth High King of the Noldor of Endor, Prince of Dor-lómin; Nemestëaryon of Noldorin Valinor; Protector of Galathilion; Captain of Mindon Eldaliéva; Dragon-Knight of Ard-galen; Lord of Avathar; Master of Sindanórie.”  His recitation was accompanied by numerous sideways glances at others in the room.

“The Nemestëaryon is the heir apparent to the throne.”  Erestor offered this information as if the others did not know the term, but from the looks the others had, they obviously knew the definition.

Now Glorfindel tilted his head and looked at Maedhros.  “I would have thought that Fëanor--”

“Nope.”  Maedhros shook his head.  “I forfeited it, and when my father returned, he upheld that with a very private proclamation.”

“And my father already said if it comes to it, he does not want it.”  Fingon still made no eye-contact.

Glorfindel tilted his head the other way.  “So if something happens to Finwë--”

Fingon nodded solemnly.

“--or if he… retires, I have no idea if kings can do that--”

Fingon continued to nod.

“--and apparently you agreed to this already--”

The nodding simply continued, as if Fingon’s head simply bobbed up and down at the sound of voices.

“--and you are not just… pretending to be king here, you… are… practicing,” realized Glorfindel.  He frowned at his own words.

Gildor crawled a little closer to Fingon so that he could reach up and cup his chin.  Fingon looked down. “Your lovers call you king because, they love you. Maedhros calls you king because, he knows.  Someday… we probably all will,” said Gildor, and Fingon looked away. “But as for me, right now, I shall not.”

Fingon’s gaze now followed back down to Gildor.  “Why not?” he asked softly.

“Because from the day you were born, you were told of your birthright.  You were groomed to be what you were told you might be. So you ran, or, you tried to.  People talk about these letters you write about the gymnastics council, and they think you are arrogant, but, no, it was the only place you were ever truly unbridled, because despite what others might think, kings are not free.  That was why you granted those under your rule all of the leniency you did -- you gave them the freedom you could not have for yourself. And when you could no longer run, you accepted it, seemingly unwillingly, but you know that some of us are born into it, and some are born for it, and you, my dear Fingon, were born for such things.  It scares you, so you make this game of it,” said Gildor, who was now wiping the tears running down Fingon’s face. “You place restrictions on those closest to you, to guard them perhaps, to rule them, maybe. You act like a king because others empower you to do so. I will not do that for you, because right now, that is not what you need to be.”

“What do--”  Fingon choked on the words, and drew his arm over his face before he attempted to continue.  “What do I need to be?” he sniffled.

Gildor took hold of Fingon’s face in his hands and pulled him down slightly to stare him square in the eyes.  “You need to allowed to be a man, a man the same as all of us. You need to be… Káno. Not Prince Findekáno and friends of Tirion; His Royal Majesty, the Sixth High King of a thing no one cares about anymore; Nemestëaryon of Noldorin Valinor; Protector of a big old tree; Captain of a lantern; Dragon-Knight of… Dragon-Knight is actually pretty impressive… but then the rest?  Lord of shitty spider-land and Master of a place no one lives in. You should just be Káno. Actually, scratch that, no. Not commander, terrible idea in suggesting that right now, too. Just…”

“Fin,” said Maedhros quietly.  “I know, I know, only call Glorfindel that, but… something, something that is just… befitting the boy who fell off the fence on my parents’ property and knocked out his two front teeth even though he fell off backwards.”

Something that almost resembled a smile flickered for only a moment on Fingon’s lips.  “I looked ridiculous for years while the new ones grew in,” he recalled. “The lisp was not particularly becoming, either.”

Gildor loosened his hold and set his hands on Fingon’s shoulders.  “Fingon, you are not a king here. You are but a man. You are a husband, and a lover, and a damn good kisser from what everyone tells me,” he said with the slightest leer.  He cleared his throat. “In this house, give yourself permission to forget your titles, forget your genealogical connections, forget everything going on outside these walls-- except of course what is going on in the stables, because Asfaloth will not let any of us forget that.  Imagine what it would be like to just live the way you want to live.” Gildor leaned in to kiss Fingon’s forehead before he crawled back to Maedhros.

“You did very well, I think,” said Maedhros to his husband.  He then dropped his voice and said, for Gildor’s ears only, “Unless that was some elaborate plan to get to spank Erestor, in which case, that would be terrible, so I like to think instead that you were very good.”

“I can be when I try,” Gildor whispered back.

Fingon was still kneeling in place, hands now folded, still crying a little.  “I expect you are both… well… angry, disappointed, something unpleasant… all deserved.”  He bowed his head.

Erestor, for his part, felt entirely numb. On some level an awareness filtered in that this was not ideal. Terribly wrong, even; but those considerations were struggling for a foothold in the midst of the things he had just learned about his past, snippets and conjured images of which kept intruding into his thought over and over.  _ I do not know what to do,  _ he told Glorfindel silently, in thought that indicated rising distress.   _ When Fëanor was in line for the throne, his every move was calculated not only by his family, but others -- advisors, scholars, religious officials, stargazers who believed they could predict his fate.  His decision to leave me was not his decision; it was a condition of his position. This scares me in a way I cannot express. Fingon does not belong to us. He belongs to the Noldor. I am at a loss; I have no words.  I do not know what to do or say. _

_I do,_ came the swift reply from Glorfindel, who now addressed Fingon quietly without looking at him. “I have only one question, Káno. Were you ever planning on telling us, or were we supposed to find a way to go along with it all when the time came? I very much want to hear how it is that you knowingly withheld information of this magnitude, when you accepted our vows and allowed us to bind ourselves to you in the sight of Eru.”

Gildor’s lips parted. An uneasy exchange of glances with Maedhros followed.

The degree of outrage simmering under the surface of Glorfindel’s too-even and calm voice might not have been detectable to Fingon or Maedhros, but Erestor and Gildor both perceived it at once. It frightened Erestor, and without being entirely aware of his movements or choices reached to try to pacify Glorfindel. “Fin, please…” Erestor said aloud.

More than anything else, the plea kept further words from Glorfindel in check. The need to comfort Erestor dampened his rising sense of betrayal. He could find a way to survive this; he had been deceived and taken advantage of before--already he felt his spirit hardening with resolve. But Erestor deserved better than this, and he would have it regardless of the cost. He quickly folded Erestor into his arms and held him close.  _ I will not let anything or anyone hurt you ever again, no matter what,  _ he promised his husband, kissing the dark hair as unshed tears burned his eyes. He looked straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone. A gentle rocking motion began, that he hoped would soothe Erestor. 

_ Fin, I am afraid. _

_ Do not be, love. I am with you. I will say no more to him, regardless of his answer. I will not be the cause of fighting in this room. I love you, Erestor--from the first moment I beheld you.  _ Glorfindel kissed the dark head repeatedly, while he waited.

“I beg you all give me leave to speak before he answers,” said Gildor, and when no one stopped him, he continued.  “I thought this to be known. I would not have spoken as I did had I--”

“This is not your fault, Gildor,” whispered Fingon, and Gildor stood down.  Fingon left the confines of the nest. Rustling and shuffling of books could be heard, and then he returned and dropped a dozen letters into a pile before his lovers.  “I tried, but even I am a coward in some things. The dates on those letters are true. I tried, but I could not find words suitable. I was not hiding it from you. I thought I was protecting you from it.  It may never come to pass, and I honestly hope it does not. I do not want to leave this place! I want to be with both of you, so badly did I want that for so long, and to have a life I could live for myself -- for us!  To think it could be taken away -- I did not want you to bear my burden of this. I realized when you made jests about it that you could not possibly know, for you would understand then why I said in the beginning, do not call me king, do not call me ‘your majesty’, do not put me in that place!  I tried. I tried to speak against it, but I could not, I did not, I should have. I feel so lost right now.” His jaw trembled as he looked upon Glorfindel and Erestor. “I feel you are both lost to me. I have no right to this. I never had a right to happiness. I--”

“Findekáno.”  Maedhros spoke now, the only one in the room with a voice exuding calm.  “If they did not know about this, then they do not know why you are in this position -- a position that I, arguably, placed you in.  Explain to them what happens if you had said no, or, I can.”

Fingon pulled his legs up and hugged them, and rested his chin on his knees, and looked very, very small.  “Too many people now know that my wife had a husband before me, and is almost certainly the true father of our two youngest children.  This calls Ereinion’s heritage into question. There is no guarantee that he is truly my son, no matter how much I feel in my heart that he is, and how much he looks like me, the question will always remain.  Therefore, should I do as my father and reject my birthright, and should my grandfather step down, or something worse befall him, the crown would pass to my brother. To Turgon,” he added as if there were question in which brother he meant.  “And none of us wants that.” He covered his face with his hands. “I never meant to deceive you. I just needed more time. I still wake most days and wish it to be untrue.”

“No good king ever wants to be king,” offered Maedhros sympathetically. 

Fingon sat a few moments more before hastily getting up.  Part of the sheet hanging overhead tipped down, and he bumped into Gildor as he made his escape from the nest.  Before any of the others could choose to go after him, the sounds of someone vomiting could be heard, and Maedhros pushed the sheet up to reveal Fingon standing at the open window, leaning out of it.

Erestor and Glorfindel both rose, but for different reasons. Erestor went to Fingon, to lay a hand on his back out of worry. Glorfindel did not interfere, but went to the yet untouched bottle of brandy. Taking it back to his place while Erestor’s attention still was on Fingon, he tipped half of the bottle down his throat in one go. Gildor began to say something to him--immediately cut short by the filthy glare he was given in return--and lapsed into silence. Glorfindel continued to drink, drawing down smaller measures. He corked the largely demolished bottle, placing it within easy reach but in a somewhat hidden location, and rested his head on tucked-up knees while the alcohol took effect.

A look exchanged between Maedhros and Gildor, and more than a few private words exchanged between them, unheard by the others, set them into action.  Maedhros approached the window. “I think we should take another break. Erestor, I am going to go out for some fresh air and I thought you might introduce me to your chickens.  We never got to that the last time I was here.”

Erestor seemed uncertain, but Gildor joined them, and set his hand upon Fingon’s shoulder.  “I will see to him,” Gildor said, and Maedhros set his arm around Erestor and managed to get him to the door.  “Oh,” said Gildor when Maedhros tried the knob. “Sorry, let me get that,” he said as he left Fingon and went to the door with the key.

It might have been the alcohol, or the shock, or a combination of both, but Glorfindel did not realize the obvious plan until it was too late, and Gildor was out the door right behind Maedhros and Erestor.  He only made it to the door after the click was heard. “Gildor! You let me out of here!” he demanded. Glorfindel pounded with one fist on the door.

“Fresh air sounds like a great idea!  I think I shall join you momentarily! I need to get my taking in fresh air shoes!” shouted Gildor to cover the noise from Glorfindel as Maedhros managed to persuade Erestor down the stairway.  Only after Gildor heard the door close to the outside did he crouch down to look into the keyhole, where he was surprised, and yet not, to see Glorfindel peering back at him with a disgusted look.  “You are going to thank me for this later,” predicted Gildor.

“Like hell I will -- let me out, you traitor!” 

“I think I hear Maedhros calling.”

“You-- no-- Gildor!  Gildor!” Glorfindel thumped his fist against the door again.  “Inglorion!”

“You remind me of--”  Fingon shut his mouth.

Glorfindel spun around and rose up to his full height, which still caused him to have to peer up a little when he stomped over, hands on his hips, brandy on his breath.  “What do I remind you of, your highness? Sorry - your majesty.” Glorfindel bowed in a mockery of the courtly gesture. “Speak!”

Fingon set his jaw and frowned.  “Please, Fin, I--”

“Glorfindel, if you please, sire,” sneered Glorfindel.  “Now, you were about to tell me what I reminded you of. I await your analysis with bated breath.”

Cornered, Fingon lifted his chin slightly.  “I was going to say, you remind me of your fath--”

“NO!” roared Glorfindel, and he lifted his hand as if to strike Fingon across the face, but held his arm.  There they stood, until Glorfindel shook his head and lowered his hand. “Nothing about me is anything like him.”  He went back to the makeshift tent to retrieve the bottle.

Fingon walked to the nearest chair and dropped down, appearing exhausted.  “He used to be different. He was quite noble once. I did not mean it as disrespect to you at all.”

“Ah.”  Glorfindel took a swig as he emerged from the nest area.  The edge of the sheet caught on his arm, and he grabbed hold and pulled to yank it down so that it fluttered to the ground behind him.  “So he was how you used to be. You used to be different… noble…” Glorfindel tapped his fingers on the bottle. “You did not mean it… hmm, like you did not mean to withhold such important information from Erestor and I?”  He took a longer drink from the bottle and then set it on a table he passed as he weaved his way around the room. 

“I never intended this,” whispered Fingon.  “I never meant to hurt you.”

Glorfindel lowered himself to his knees before Fingon, placing his splayed hands on his thighs. The position of his body was submissive; his demeanor anything but. “I do not care about myself. Your theater all but finished what you once intended for Maedhros, and on account of it I was struck down. My life was over, and out of it you claimed me to begin your...shall we call it a collection? By your own words, others may one day supplant Erestor and I. If it is to happen, it is to happen. ‘So be it,’ as you often say. I have sworn myself to you, body and spirit; it is too late for me. My pledge was given in full honesty and I remain yours, for nothing about my vows allows for anything different. I withheld nothing about myself, any omission was unintentional and I would remedy it the moment anything came to light. My conscience is clear. 

“Sooner or later what you have done will become to apparent to Ress, who is overwrought. Confused. He has not yet realized that you deliberately deceived him for your own gain, with this. What else have you kept secret from us? ” Glorfindel’s tone was no longer level, but pitched higher with increasing volume. Strain and emotion mounted with his words. “It was wrong of you, horribly wrong to drag us into this without our consent but you always win, remember?! Do what you will with me, King Findekáno! But make no mistake, you will find a means to make this right with Erestor. He trusted you. Loves you. He is a shadow of who he once was, as am I. You are the end of our road, but I still will defend him against you or anyone else before I see anything add to his sufferings, no matter the cost to me. I died for him once and I would do it again without hesitation.”

The blue-green eyes burned with wrath as he spoke his challenge. After a deep breath, his voice lowered again to an icy calm. “May your possession hear your reply, great King?”

Fingon sat unmoving on his chair, save for his eyes, which looked away but a moment before focusing on Glorfindel again.  “I am so afraid to speak, and yet more than that, I fear not to say something would be worse. Your words make me out to be a monster, yet, my intentions were not that, not at all.  I love you both dearly; I thought I finally found a place of belonging, but I am just a worthless hypocrite. What can I possibly say to you to make things right? An apology does not seem enough.  I need your guidance to tell me how I can make this right -- and if I even can.”

Staring straight ahead, Glorfindel’s body slowly relaxed; the fight he anticipated provoking was not forthcoming and the alcohol exerted a far stronger influence. Eventually he lowered his eyes. “Promise me you will care for Erestor first,” he asked in deflated tones. One hand reached up to wipe away a tear before it could be shed.

Very tentatively, Fingon reached out to touch the back of Glorfindel’s hand with two fingers.  So badly did he want to pull him into his arms, but he hesitated. “I will do anything you ask of me.  I will do anything either of you ask of me. Not because I feel I need to in order to make up for my mistake, but because I want to.  Because I love you both more than anyone or anything I have ever loved before.”

Glorfindel’s hands came up to his face to stifle a sob, as the dam finally burst. His body collapsed even lower when he bent forward. All of it was too much. The revelations with Erestor, the future he had dreamed of now under the black cloud of a husband who would be required to fill a far different role, and his own pain at feeling that once again he chosen something that was not what it appeared to be--everything jumbled together and could not be sorted. What was there to be done?  _ Nothing, that was what. Nothing could undo this, so what could there possibly be to ask? _ His head came to lodge against Fingon’s lower legs, where he remained lost in his sense of grief. The block he had placed on his thoughts dropped, and Fingon was no longer shielded from all that Glorfindel thought and felt.

Slowly, Fingon slid down to the ground and made an attempt to draw Glorfindel close to him as he said, “It appears I do not always win, Glorfindel, but I grieve that the one time I so desperately wanted to win appears now to be the time I lose.”

_ What?  _ Complete incomprehension washed through Glorfindel’s mind. Little remained for puzzling out riddles. He did not resist Fingon’s pull, having capitulated any sense of self-determination. Closing his eyes as silent tears continued to streak down his face, he rested against the warm body, dully waiting to see what would become of him. Only disappointment and the surrender accompanying the dissolution of his anger registered. The sudden large volume of alcohol diminished the pain, as he had sincerely hoped it would.

While some thoughts were difficult to determine, it was clear that Fingon had confused Glorfindel with his words.  “I need to speak plainly, as I should have in the beginning. I deeply love you and Erestor. The two of you were the greatest desire of my life.  The moments we shared together were the happiest in my life. You are right -- there is nothing I can do to right this wrong. I have failed at the most important part of my life.  I only hope that you and Erestor can have a happy life together once I am gone. I will not ask forgiveness of you, because I deserve none.” He closed his eyes. “So much for faith.”

“Oh, do shut up,” Glorfindel said, not entirely believing the words coming out of his mouth, for it was as if someone else spoke. “Quit acting like this is the end of the goddamn world. I already told you, I am pledged to you and honor-bound to remain at your side. It is no different for Erestor. Quit whining about faith and failure and fucking figure out what to do, Káno. That is what kings are good for, or did I miss something? Have you listened to a word I have said that does not pertain to you? I could really use something besides your narcissistic monologues right now.” Glorfindel opened his eyes, blinking.  _ Where in fuck did that all just come from?  _ He rubbed at his forehead, wondering if he really just said all of that aloud. Did he?  _ I am very drunk just now,  _ he reasoned before the thought flitted away.  _ Probably imagined it. _

_ \--- _

“Do you think they are alright?” Erestor asked nervously for the seventh time. “I mean, I really do not understand why we are looking at sleeping chickens by lantern-light.”

“Because I like chickens,” Maedhros answered calmly. “You might be surprised to know how many animals I have taken an interest in thanks to my partner. And yes, your mates are alright. Gildor is nearby, prepared to intervene if anything becomes too fractious.”

“Fractious,” Erestor grinned, not entirely thinking through what he had just been told. “I am pleased to see that you continued to expand your vocabulary.”

“I had a very good tutor who instilled in me a love of learning,” Maedhros said. “Even if I was not able to make best use of it until my second life.”

Erestor smiled, nodding. “Well, this one is a--”

“Golden Buff,” Maedhros smiled.

“Very good,” Erestor answered, impressed. “But Snowball here is a--” 

“Valinorean White,” came the confident answer.

“My. This is unexpected,” Erestor murmured. “Well, what about this one?” he pointed.

“White frizzle,” Maedhros answered, frowning. “Albeit one of the ugliest ones I have ever seen. Tatannen, what is wrong with her?”

“Well, there is a story. I had this rooster, you see, and--”

Erestor’s tale was derailed before it could really commence by the sharp exclamations of Glorfindel’s loud and angry voice. The tones carried easily, though the individual words were indistinguishable. Erestor froze, and his chin began to tremble. Almost without warning, he began to cry, turning away from Maedhros in embarrassment. 

“Tatannen! Please do not hide yourself,” he pleaded, glancing anxiously toward the house and hoping to hell Gildor knew what he was about. “Come with me. We can appreciate the chickens another time. I want you to sit down.” Maedhros did not wait for an answer, but swept Erestor into his arms, carrying him toward the stable where there were saddle blankets that could be used to cover the rough straw bales. In a moment, Maedhros had Erestor seated in his lap, holding him.

_ \--- _

Fingon listened to every single harsh and true word spoken by Glorfindel.  He bowed his head a moment, looked back up, took hold of Glorfindel’s face in his hands and kissed him full on the lips.  As he leaned back slightly, he looked into Glorfindel’s eyes. “Better? Worse? You could also hit me now; I deserved it earlier.”

The surprise in the beautifully colored eyes rapidly faded to hunger, mashed up with confusion and a lingering sense of shame at the suggestion he strike Fingon. There was no possibility of speech amidst the inebriated turmoil, though Glorfindel’s lips did part in general disbelief--or was it invitation?

Once again, Fingon pressed his lips to Glorfindel’s, only slower this time as his body trembled, and longer he lingered. When he began to pull away, a faint but deep whimper escaped the blond, whose hands now unwittingly grasped his husband’s thighs to steady himself. Fingon said nothing, but waited, still shaking. Glorfindel found himself unable to break away from Fingon’s gaze, and the regret and sorrow he found there. Want and sadness, the haze of the drink and resignation swirled together inside his mind. A fading, muddled awareness of his angry words fell away as the comforting kisses took root in his thought. “Please,” Glorfindel managed to whisper, feeling suddenly adrift and hollowed out.

Fingon wet his lips and placed two fingers under Glorfindel’s chin to steady him -- or was it that he really needed the tremors to flow through Glorfindel as well, so that they could align?  This time, they both came forward, colliding with need and kissing until they both fought for air. Panting and dizzy, Fingon looked about to speak, but turned away.

“Say it,” commanded Glorfindel.  He could feel within himself the conflict of emotions so raw and unnerving, and a sudden resolve like that he had once felt in council or on the battlefield.  _  He is not my enemy.  _  The thought crossed his mind before he could filter it out, and Fingon looked back, seeming uncertain.  “You will tell me what you mean to say,” Glorfindel said as calmly as he could muster. “No more secrets.”

After a sudden intake of air, Fingon said, “We have never really…”

“--made love without Erestor with us in some way,” finished Glorfindel as he captured the thought in Fingon’s mind.  “Yes. I know.” He ran his hand along Fingon’s arm, up and back down to his wrist, winding his fingers around it, interested for a moment that he could touch his thumb and finger without causing Fingon too much discomfort.  Glorfindel looked into Fingon’s eyes. “You are shaking like a leaf on a tree in autumn.”

Fingon’s auspicious air seemed lost.  “Yes.”

Glorfindel let go of Fingon’s wrist and placed his palm against Fingon’s chest.  He slid it up over his throat, and gripped him at the neck. Fingon struggled to swallow, but made no attempt to pull away.  “Are you frightened of me?” Glorfindel asked.

“No,” answered Fingon immediately.  “Anything you might choose to do to me I deserve.  The thought that I might lose you frightens me. The thought I have already lost you frightens me more.”

Hand slack, Glorfindel cupped Fingon’s cheek.  “I am upset with you. I am disappointed with your choices.  I poured my heart out to you. If you had come to us with this, we would have carried this burden together.”

“I thought if I told you I would risk losing you,” blurted out Fingon.  “I thought I would not be worth it for the two of you.”

“There it is.  Finally, the truth.”  Glorfindel stroked Fingon’s cheek.  “It must feel better to have said it.”

“A little, but I am still afraid.”  Fingon bowed his head.

Glorfindel’s fingers wandered to the back of Fingon’s neck.  “Why did you kiss me?” he asked. The drink emboldened him to show far more brazenness than he had in years.  His gaze rested unblinkingly upon Fingon.

“Because I have hope,” said Fingon.  “I hope that I have not completely fucked everything up.”

Strong fingers kneaded the back of Fingon’s neck, and then Glorfindel grabbed a firm hold of the hair at the base of Fingon’s neck and pulled him close.  Glorfindel’s lips grazed Fingon’s ear as he spoke, causing Fingon to whimper and shiver. “If there was no hope left, do you really think I would do this?”  And then he bit Fingon’s ear hard, harder than intended, but not enough to break the skin. Fingon cried out, clawed his fingers into Glorfindel’s biceps, and moaned, head tipped back when Glorfindel withdrew.  “What do you want, Fingon?”

They were both panting, Fingon the greater of the two, and so many thoughts swam through his head.  He knew that Glorfindel was in there, and that he did not actually have to verbalize them, and yet he did.  He struggled to decide where to start. As his lips parted, Glorfindel placed his finger upon them.

“What do you want right now?” clarified Glorfindel.  “Yes, you want to fix what needs mending. Yes, you want to take care of Erestor, and me.  I know all of these things. What I want to know is what do you want right now?”

A few additional moments of panting followed, and Fingon fought to find his words.  Glorfindel gave him a moment, but after ample seconds passed, Glorfindel made as if he was going to stand.

“You!” shouted Fingon as his hands now clung to Glorfindel. The blond settled down again.  “Right now, and this is so inappropriate considering everything that has happened today and everything that was said between us, but right now I just want you.”

“What do you think is inappropriate? Wanting sex, or something else?” Glorfindel firmly grabbed each of Fingon’s wrists, but not so hard as to leave a mark.

“Desiring you in this moment.”  Fingon averted his gaze a moment, and before he could be reprimanded for not stating the whole truth, added, “Desiring your domination of me.  Admitting that I may actually enjoy… some of this.”

“I want you to tell me why that could possibly be inappropriate. Because I became upset with you?” He jerked Fingon forward to emphasize his physical power over him in this position, but with restraint.

“Because I upset you, and because my fate is in your hands, and because thoughts creep into my head of being taken on all fours and being fucked against the wall by you when I should be contemplating my sins and asking forgiveness.”  Fingon tried not to sound embarrassed, but the veins in his wrists throbbed against the grip Glorfindel had, and his skin colored rose, and his gaze cast downward.

Glorfindel pulled Fingon’s wrists down and to either side, so that he was forced to bend his back, and their mouths aligned.  This time it was not only lips and the gentle caress of tongues, but fierce nips and bites from Glorfindel, and the clack of teeth, and whimpers and moans.  “This is not the ideal place for all of that,” said Glorfindel after they kissed again. “Come.” Glorfindel stood, and offered his hand to Fingon, which was taken.  The pair walked to the mattresses, Glorfindel confident, and Fingon slightly more timid. It was just as they were centered, standing on them, that Glorfindel’s hand shot up and took hold of a handful of braids.  Fingon found himself on his knees, head pulled back, and Glorfindel looking down upon him. “I have just decided that there are few things more erotic than a king kneeling before me. Now bow,” he said as he pressed on Fingon’s shoulder, and Fingon oh so obediently lowered himself upon his hands and knees.  “Even better,” decided Glorfindel as he walked a circle around Fingon. 

After a full circuit, Glorfindel migrated to one side and pulled Fingon’s head back by his braids, forcing him to look up.  “You have to the count of ten to remove the rest of your clothing and resume this position.” Glorfindel let go and began to count, the whole time watching as Fingon did not hesitate, and was back on the ground, gloriously naked, before Glorfindel reached nine.  “Good boy,” purred Glorfindel as he petted Fingon’s head. “Now, as you know, this position has a name.” He hooked a finger under Fingon’s chin and tilted it up. “You are quite intelligent. Surely you know the name for it.”

“Uhm… dog style,” answered Fingon.

“Close enough,” said Glorfindel, and he rewarded Fingon with another pat on his head.  “As you know, dogs are obedient creatures, doing everything that their masters say.”

A tremor ran up Fingon’s spine.  “Indeed.”

“There is something that dogs do when they want something,” added Glorfindel.  “I trust you know what that is?”

“They beg.”

“They beg,” confirmed Glorfindel.  He began to remove the rest of his own clothing.  “I want you to beg me, Fingon. Not for forgiveness; that will come in time.  Call it practice,” said Glorfindel. “I want you to beg me for what you want. If you want my cock up your ass,” he said as he slid his erection over the base of Fingon’s spine, causing him to gasp, “beg for it.”  Glorfindel moved away just as quickly. “If you need...discipline,” he said, the word accompanied by smacking Fingon’s rear, “...grovel.” Glorfindel circled again until he was behind Fingon. He took hold of Fingon’s hips and went through the motions of thrusting without actually penetrating him.  “And if you want me reach that sweet spot inside that makes you come, you had better plead so very prettily for me.” Glorfindel curled his body over Fingon’s, blindly reaching past the dark braids swinging back and forth. He smiled when he knew he found his target, and traced around the sensitive left ear until he heard Fingon whimper.

Glorfindel’s hand moved swiftly, fingers finding Fingon’s lips, and Glorfindel had to stretch a little more, pressing his erection against Fingon’s lower spine as he fit two fingers into Fingon’s mouth and slid them in and out several times while he said, “Do make sure you speak loud and clear,” he advised.  “The liquor has my head a little cloudy.”

A popping noise was heard as Glorfindel removed his fingers, and then all movement on his part stopped.  Fingon blinked a few times as he tried to order his thoughts. “Before we go further, I need something to prepare myself.”

“Yes, you do,” agreed Glorfindel.

Nothing else happened for a little while.  It finally dawned on Fingon, and he asked, “May I please have something to prepare myself.  For anal penetration,” he added in case he needed to be specific.

“Of course,” answered Glorfindel as he went to a desk.  “Erestor keeps linseed oil in here that he uses to polish his fiddle.”  The bottle was retrieved and brought back, but as Fingon started to rise up, Glorfindel took a step back.  “Rules to obediency: Your hands and knees you must keep on the ground at all times, unless I say otherwise.”

“How can I--”

“Rule two,” continued Glorfindel, “If you want something, you beg me for it.  The more specific you are, the better your chances you will receive it. If I feel accommodating, I will respond.  Rule three, the safe word. You know what it is; if you use it, I will stop, no questions asked. It is your move, my dear.”

Fingon took a few shaky breaths.  “I would be ever so grateful to you if you were to prepare me with the oil and stretch me with your fingers in anticipation of…”

“Keep going,” coaxed Glorfindel.  “You are doing very well.”

“In anticipation of… of…”  Fingon swallowed a few times.  

“Tell me what you want,” said Glorfindel.

A deep breath was followed by Fingon’s next attempt.  “I would be very grateful if you were to prepare me with the linseed oil, taking time to stretch me with your fingers so that I can be penetrated by your hard length.”

“Sorry; penetrated by my what?” asked Glorfindel.

Fingon licked his lips.  “By your…” A slow breath was let out.  “I want you to fuck me wi--”

“Ah-ah.  Begging, Fingon.”

Again, there was a pause.  Fingon felt he should be frustrated, but instead, he was aroused.  “Glorfindel, if you see fit to prepare me with the oil, liberally coating me as I squirm at the invasion of your fingers within me, stretching my tight passage, I beseech you to use me, and use me well.  I desire and beg you to sheath yourself within me, finding warmth and desire for you cock within my body. Please, Glorfindel, please ready me to be loved by you.” The words were a little easier if Fingon did not overthink them and just let them flow, but he found he ran the risk of a lack of elegance in doing so.  Now he waited, wishing to look over his shoulder, but not daring to lift his head.

“So good,” Glorfindel complimented as one hand slid along Fingon’s back and the other dribbled a little oil over Fingon’s cleft.  One finger now traced back and forth through the slick lubricant, and Fingon whimpered. For a little while, that was as much as Glorfindel was willing to offer, and while it did not yet succeed in preparing Fingon, it did harden his own erection.  More oil was added as the first droplets soaked in, and Glorfindel circled the puckered entrance as he recited:

Hickory, dickory, dock

Fingon wants my cock

I start with one

For lots of fun

Hickory, dickory dock.

At the mention of ‘one’, Glorfindel plunged one finger straight in.  Fingon cried out, head back, and Glorfindel slid his finger out, only to jam it back in again.  Glorfindel added more oil and hummed the tune of the rhyme as he alternated between slow internal strokes and insistent jabs.  Many minutes went by with Glorfindel using only a single finger, and he singsonged, “If only someone were to beg for the next verse.”

“Oh… Fin… please,” panted Fingon.  “Please, keep going. Please give me the next verse.”

And so Glorfindel removed the single digit, poured oil into his palm to slick his fingers, and offered the following:

Hickory dickory dock

Fingon wants my cock

Now there are two

And he says ‘ooooo’

Hickory, dickory dock.

Fingon groaned at two, when the intrusion doubled, as did Glorfindel’s gusto.  Now instead of teasing, Glorfindel’s movements were more intense, and Fingon began to let out higher pitched noises when Glorfindel shoved his fingers in and curled them slightly when he encountered Fingon’s favorite hidden erogenous zone.  Moaning and groaning, Fingon did not notice a change was about to occur until he heard Glorfindel speaking again:

Hickory dickory dock

Fingon wants my cock

Shall we try three?

That might be the key

Hickory dickory dock

Though his experiences being in this position were very limited, never before had he been so aware of the pressure from the way he was being filled.  It felt like a pulse within, with unexpected bursts of pleasure each time Glorfindel found his mark and rubbed his prostate. The haze of pleasure that made Fingon rock back and try to take the digits in deeper caused him to forget there was another verse until he heard Glorfindel speak again:

Hickory dickory dock

Fingon wants my cock

Can he take four?

Or just shout ‘no more!’

Hickory dickory dock

Fingon’s eyes opened wide as Glorfindel readied his fingers.  “Fin… wait…”

“Shh… do you trust me?”

There seemed to be a drumming sound in his ears, and Fingon dug his fingers into the blankets upon the mattresses.  The safe word repeated over and over in his head, but he silenced it with, “Yes.”

“Obedience, then.  I promise not to hurt you.”  Glorfindel patted Fingon’s rear gently.  “Spread your legs more. Wider,” he directed, and he assisted in the positioning.  “Keep your ass up here, and lower your chest. Just rest it down there. Good… good.”  Glorfindel ran his hand from Fingon’s shoulder back to his posterior. More oil was poured into Glorfindel’s palm, and he liberally coated his fingers.  “Be still and breath deep.”

Fingon managed several deep breaths without feeling anything.  He kept his eyes closed, so he did not see any indication from shadows or other movements that he was about to be penetrated again until the first hint of Glorfindel’s fingers gave him indication.  “Relax. Keep breathing.” Fingon followed the orders Glorfindel gave, and staved off panic by listening to the corrupted nursery rhyme in his head. The pressure built again, and while Glorfindel had less mobility this way, Fingon moaned at the very full feeling he had as Glorfindel’s knuckles disappeared within.   “You do trust me,” Fingon heard Glorfindel say, sounding distant compared to the sound of his own pleasure being expressed. Glorfindel brushed his thumb over Fingon’s skin, movements hampered by the rest of his fingers being anchored within Fingon. 

Hickory dickory dock

Fingon wants my cock

Despite his sex drive

I shall not try five

Hickory dickory dock

“Y-you can...do as y-you...wish.  Will n-not...fight it,” Fingon said meekly.  

“Why?”  Glorfindel asked softly.

Fingon’s answer was immediate.  “B-because y-you would n-never… h-hurt me.”

“You trust me to do this, something so intimate and admittedly just a little dangerous,” said Glorfindel, sobering only momentarily.  “I want you to be able to trust me like this in all aspects of our relationship, even dumb shit that revolves around stupid plans to keep your brother from ever being king again.”  Glorfindel alternated between two and four fingers to allow him to massage Fingon’s prostate again. “Also I am just going to keep doing this until you beg me to do something else.”

Despite the very serious lesson in trust, Fingon was rocking his body back toward Glorfindel and making passionate noises throughout.  Only now, when he was informed that he had not given adequate additional guidance in the form of some sort of plea did he whine and whimper and stretch back as Glorfindel withdrew completely, leaving Fingon erect and frustrated.

“Come on,” coaxed Glorfindel as he kneaded Fingon’s ass with both hands before delivering a sharp spank to one cheek, “you did such a lovely job of it earlier.”

Fingon turned his head to the side so that his voice would not be muffled by the blankets.  “Will you please stop teasing me with these single strikes of yours?” The words sounded a little less pleading the way they issued forth.  “I really wish you would just go on and get it out and give me a proper spanking already if you are of a mind to.”

Glorfindel gave Fingon’s rear another squeeze.  “I thought that was Erestor’s thing.”

“Erestor does not hold the monopoly on being spanked, darling.  There are a lot of things I actually do enjoy in the bedroom that--”  Fingon suddenly shut up, but was on his back a moment later with Glorfindel looming over him.

“What do I not know?” Glorfindel had Fingon pinned to the mattress as he looked down with narrowed eyes.

Fingon blushed.  “Well, the spanking thing for one.”

And then, with unexpected reflexes due to his ample drinking that night, Glorfindel had Fingon face down again, this time sprawled over Glorfindel’s lap.  “A new game,” announced Glorfindel as he rubbed Fingon’s rear with his left hand. “For each guilty pleasure you reveal to me, you shall be rewarded thusly.”  And Glorfindel struck Fingon with such delightful force that Fingon gasped, flinched, and felt his arousal twitch. “You may begin.”

\---

“I am so tired of feeling like a stupid mess,” Erestor said unsteadily through his tears after he had had a good, long cry against Maedhros. “I am sorry!”

“Tatannen, no,” Maedhros said with surprising tenderness. “You have been through so much. Too much. Tonight was not easy for so many reasons. There is nothing for which to apologize. Nothing at all.”

Erestor felt drained, bereft of the will to resist anything. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around Maedhros’ chest and held on. “Is this...am I…?” He found he had trouble framing the question.

“No, you are not bothering me, scandalizing me, disturbing me, or any other vexatious outcomes,” Maedhros chuckled. For a long while, he rubbed Erestor’s back to calm him. “Tatannen, do you remember when you would do this for me?”

“Yes, but you were considerably smaller then,” Erestor smiled as he buried his head against the strong body. “I do not know if I should say this after what Fingon said about his preferences tonight, but...thank you. You feel safe. It is very kind of you to offer to help me like this.”

Maedhros sighed. “I hope, very badly, that Fingon can gain some flexibility in this regard. I have no carnal interest in you. That is for Gildor alone. But I like to share affection just as much as the next person. I feel that at one time, I had a lot of fairly ridiculous ideas about relationships. Gildor challenged some of those and while I suppose I am still stuck on a few things, I have learned a great deal from him. When he is not being a salacious ass he can be the kindest, most insightful person I have ever met. If I am going to be honest, I do not think it is right or fair, what Fingon wants from you.” He waited to see if Erestor would answer.

“I love him,” Erestor said quietly. “He did not give up on me when absolutely everyone else did. I am alive only because of him. I spent too much of my marriage to Glorfindel treating him horribly by my inappropriate attentions to others, a mistake I intend to never repeat. If Fingon asked me never to look at another man aside from he and Fin, I would do it. I feel I owe it to him.”

A deeply troubled look manifested on Maedhros’ face, unseen in the dark. “I know what happened, and I do not diminish Fingon’s loyalty to you. Or yours for him. But I will still give you a word of advice. You are a person, with just as much right to freedom and happiness as any of us. What happened to you-- so much of that was not your fault. Keep your self-respect, Tatannen. You should love each other, care for each other. But he does not own you, and you should not feel as though he does. Not for a minute.”

“Are you listening to what you are saying?” Erestor fired back, feeling some ire now. “He is my mate. Are you telling me to, I do not know, climb all over Gildor and spurn that it bothers my husband tremendously?”

“That is just it,” Maedhros shook his head. “It does  _ not _ bother him tremendously, because he wants to do that very thing himself. Were you able to listen earlier, Tatannen? What is not right is that he wants it one way for you and Glorfindel, and a different set of rules for his own behavior. What you and Glorfindel wish to do should matter just as much. I think the subject certainly merits further discussion; that topic is by no means closed. I am not even certain it was fully even opened, before all hell broke loose up there.”

Silence fell between them. “What can Gildor do, before it bothers you?” Erestor wanted to know. 

A laugh escaped the tall redhead, as he considered the question. “Well, Gildor is Gildor. To try to cage him would be to try to take away his free spirit, which I love dearly about him. We really only have three firm rules between us, concerning what I believe you are asking about. One, I will not accept him bonding with someone else. I am not ready to share him to that extent, nor do I believe I ever will be. Two, that if the activity exceeds ordinary snuggling or perhaps kissing, that we both be present. No going off for heavy canoodling without being together; I am willing to allow Gildor a very great amount of freedom, as long as I am there in some capacity. Lastly, that we always communicate. Check in with each other about feelings, desires, comfort. In the beginning, some of what he did was a bit much in my eyes. But then I began to see that if I trusted him to be himself and respect what little I insisted on, I became the beneficiary of all sorts of new experiences and perspectives. Many of which I have found to be quite worthwhile in the intimacy department, shall we say. Other than that…” he shrugged. “Gildor does not fare well with a bunch of complicated rules.”

Erestor considered all he was being told, still clinging to Maedhros. “I feel like I know Gildor and do not know him, all at the same time. There is much I have learned just in the last few days. We wasted far too much time thinking ill of each other.”

“Something he bitterly regrets. You do not know what it was, to see him apologize to you the way he did. I still find I am amazed at the recollection.”

“I can hardly blame him. Look at me. Look at what they...I was turned into… who could possibly think well of me--a drunken, addicted failure.”

“No. You are much too hard on yourself, and I will not listen to you speak in such a manner. All I see is one of the bravest men I know. I do not want to argue with you, Tatannen, but I will if I must.” Turning his head, he leaned down to kiss the dark head. First on the crown, then on the forehead that raised up.

“I hardly know how else to be,” Erestor admitted, absently kissing the only thing he could reach, which was the spot between where Maedhros’ collarbones met. “But I thank you for your words. It is not the first time I have needed to hear something like that. Nor is it likely to be the last.”

Unexpectedly, Maedhros caught Erestor’s chin, and gently captured his lips in a lingering but chaste kiss. At first Erestor froze, but as nothing he deemed untoward was pressed upon him he relaxed and opened himself to the affection. “Words are not the only thing you need right now. Know that you are loved, Eressë. Loved and protected, and not only by your mates.” Maedhros continued to hold him securely, still rubbing his back slowly until the exhausted ellon had fallen sound asleep. Carefully he rose, bearing Erestor out of the stable to someplace that he could sit and watch the stars, cradling and watching over the beautiful face; one restored to peace and relaxation by the blessing of sleep. When enough time had elapsed and night wore on, he rose to carry Erestor into the house, and up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with his mates. Still he slept soundly. 

Reaching out to confer in thought with Gildor, he confirmed that Erestor most likely slept nude, and carefully began to ease his clothing--fortunately loose items--off of him. The occasional disturbed grunt issued forth, but for the most part Maedhros was successful. Gildor appeared in the doorway. “He is alright?” came the concerned question. 

“Yes. Just tired. Wrung out, is more like it. We talked for a time, but for the most part I held him while he slept and I stargazed. I wanted to ensure that I heard no further outbursts before returning him inside. I take it they have either calmed down or killed each other?” he whispered softly.

“Follow me,” Gildor instructed. “I need to keep within earshot of the door, but we can move to the bottom of the stairs and converse quietly.” Once there, they sat on the steps. Gildor informed his lover of what had transpired.

“Good for Glorfindel,” the redhead opined, chuckling. “It is more than about time Fingon was kicked in the ass. He absolutely should not get a free pass, not after pulling a stunt like that on the two of them.”

“And you and Erri? What did you discuss?” Gildor wanted to know. Maedhros shared the answer in silent conversation.

“Oh my darling, aren’t you just the provocateur? Poking at the errant king who does not want to share his toys, I see? I ought to be ashamed of how much I am enjoying this, but we both know that that word and I have never even met.”

“You know perfectly well it was not about provocation. It is about...growing up. Fingon has taken on a great responsibility, with Glorfindel and Eressë. They both look to him, defer to him. And on my watch, he will not unwittingly abuse that trust if I have anything to say about it. In my opinion? If any of them want to play ‘hide the pickle’ with you, as you so elegantly frame it, that should be open to all of them. Not only him. Power means using it to guarantee fairness, not hoarding everything for oneself.”

“Listen to you, Mae Mae! I do not often hear you speak like this,” Gildor said soberly.

“I do not often see my former lover fucking up and making mistakes this bad with those he loves. But having survived one of those mistakes, I will do what I can to set his feet on a straight path. Even great kings have advisors,” Maedhros answered, his sensitive ears hearing what sounded like rising passion from the library. 

“Speaking of fucking…” Gildor trailed off. 

“He has needed this for a very long time. I did not have the patience or the wisdom to help him to this place. But my heart is glad that he has found it. I will always love him, Gildor.”

“I know. Just as I will always love the other two, and I do not just mean because I want to play hide my pickle with them.”

“You,” Maedhros grinned while nipping at Gildor’s lip, “are incorrigible. Never change. And I hope you are not too weary from all that has transpired, because I fully intend to fuck you, hard, before I go visit with Irmo.”

“Oh baby, after everything I just saw through the keyhole, I need everything you have to give. Do you know what it took for me to watch and not make a peep? Do you?”

“Mmmm, I think I can guess. Fear not, I shall reward your efforts tonight.” Now Maedhros leaned in close, whispering in Gildor’s ear what he intended to do to him later. 

Gildor groaned. “Fabulous. Now I get to walk around with a granite cock because I will not be able to stop thinking about that.”

“You will survive,” Maedhros told him, caressing the bulge in Gildor’s leggings before his tone turned unaccountably serious. “Gildor, can I ask you something?”

“I have a feeling you are about to, and since when do you ask?” Gildor quipped, flicking his hair over his shoulder.

“True on both counts,” Maedhros admitted. “I would like to know, and there is no wrong answer...regarding what was said earlier about your substance use. How do you feel about that?”

“I…” Gildor looked down. “I will never lie to you, Mae. Tonight somewhat forced me to realize that I have a problem. A problem that never occurred to me as a problem, because I have done this for so long it is my idea of normal. I never overdosed, never had my life fall apart because of the drugs. But...Erestor did, and we are apparently committing to living here though the details are not all sorted just yet.” Gildor sighed, uncharacteristically earnest. “I know what I should do. The look on Fingon’s face...that did not feel good to see. If you must know, it reminded me of how I once looked at Erestor. That...” He shook his head. “If I go through with trying to stop, I will get very sick and stay that way for a while. I have seen what happens. I am not really feeling very enthusiastic about that part, but there is no way around it. Getting off the stuff means...that. Pretty sure Erri knows all about it.”

“I will be here for you,” offered Maedhros as he stroked Gildor’s silky hair.  “Tonight or tomorrow or next week or next year… whenever you decide. If you decide not to, I am still here for you, when you want to talk about it.”

“Through irritable mornings and depressive afternoons?” queried Gildor.

Maedhros nodded.  “And all the grumpy evenings, too.”

“Will you hold my hair back when I vomit?”

“Always and every time,” promised Maedhros.

“And hold me and rock me when I break into emotional sobs for no apparent reason?”

Maedhros placed his arms around Gildor and hugged him close.  “Single handedly.”

Gildor chuckled as Maedhros smiled and kissed the top of Gildor’s head.  He took a deep breath as his mirth subsided and looked up. “It scares me.  How will I be if I stop? You tell me not to change, but I may not be able to guarantee that.  On the other hand, what if I turn out to be a better person?” He gave Maedhros a seductive look.  “What if it turns out without it, we can have better, longer bedroom parties?” Then Gildor looked more serious.  “What if I try and fail, Mae Mae?”

Maedhros bent his head to kiss the tip of Gildor’s nose.  “This is why this is your decision, which I will stand by, because you are my greatest gift, and I will always be here for you.  If you try and fail, you still have me. If you try and succeed, I will be there. And if you choose not to try at all, here I am.  Always and forever here for you.”

Gildor stretched up on the tips of his toes and kissed Maedhros.  “Yes.”

Maedhros started to nod, and then paused.  “Wait, was that yes to what I said--”

“Yes to no.”

Maedhros lifted a brow.  “How much did you drink in there?”

“Practically nothing.  Yes to no more drugs.” Gildor set his jaw and frowned.  “I think. I mean, they are out of my immediate reach right now.  I have been free of them for…” He counted on his fingers. “A few hours.”

“Alright.  No more of them.”  Maedhros studied Gildor’s face.  “How do you feel?”

“No different than five minutes ago -- but ask me in the morning,” Gildor said gravely.

Maedhros continued to hold Gildor, who had turned his head to rest his cheek against Maedhros’ chest.  “Perhaps it is time for us to do something together, then.”

Gildor looked back up.  “You have practically never used those, because trying them twice to try to understand me was… not the same.”

“I know.”  Maedhros carded his fingers through Gildor’s hair and smiled.  “I make it through, what, at least three liters of brandy and whiskey a week?  There is a bottle of cordial in every room of the house--”

“You mean to give up alcohol,” Gildor suddenly realized.

“Maybe not wine or mead, but liquor.  Drinking just to drink away my thoughts.”  Maedhros looked down. “Then you can stop holding my hair back when I am throwing up all over.”

“I have a feeling I will be making up for all of that. In fact...it would not go amiss to have some kind of basin in our room just in case it starts--” Gildor’s words were cut short by a pounding from upstairs.

  
“GILDOR!! DAMMIT!! OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!! NOW!!”

Panicked, Maedhros raced up the stairs. “SHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!” he pleaded. “Please, Glorfindel, we will let you out, only be quiet. Not for me, for Erestor.” Gildor was not far behind him, fumbling with the key. 

“Mae?” he spoke barely above a whisper while he felt in the dark where to place the key.  _ Please do not tell them what we discussed. About the drugs. I just want a little time before this is a spectacle for the entire household. _

_ Of course. Anything. _

The key was turned, as was the doorknob.  Glorfindel shoved his way into the hall, leggings sporting the evidence of his growing desire.  “He does not leave, and you do not enter,” Glorfindel said firmly as he walked down the hallway to the stairs.

Gildor and Maedhros exchanged looks.  “Cover me,” Gildor whispered as he fluidly knelt and peeked in through the keyhole.

“See anything?” questioned Maedhros as he listened for Glorfindel to return.

Gildor stood again.  “He is lying very still, his ass red and in the air, breathing very hard.  I cannot see his cock, but I have a feeling--” Gildor shut his mouth as the sound of someone hurrying back up the steps alerted them.  Glorfindel held out his free hand -- the other held a collection of vials -- and Gildor placed the key in his palm. “Do not wait up for us,” he drawled as he shut the door behind him.

“I am going to check in on Tatannen,” decided Maedhros.  He walked the short distance to the master bedroom, looked in briefly, and emerged again.  “Either he is faking it, or he can sleep through anything,” noted Maedhros. “Now, as much as I know you enjoy a good show, I have a suggestion for a performance you can attend in person,” he said as he linked an arm with Gildor.

“Oh… I do like a live performance,” Gildor answered as he gave Maedhros’ backside a pinch.  

Back in the room, Glorfindel was circling Fingon.  “I feel everything you have told me is just… surface,” he said as he ran a hand from Fingon’s rear to his neck that made him shiver.  “Shall we delve a little… deeper?” Glorfindel dropped the vials on the nearest cushion, save for one, which he uncorked and liberally poured over Fingon’s bottom.  “Tell me something else, my dear. What else do you enjoy?” he purred as he teased the puckered entrance with two fingers.

Fingon swallowed hard and groaned softly.  “F-feathers are...uhn… nice,” he offered.

“Feathers, hmm?  And what would we do with those?”

“A-anyth-thing,” said Fingon.  “Especially on… on… ooooh…” Fingon arched his back as the fingers sunk deep inside of him, and gasped when Glorfindel gave the slightest flick across his prostate.

“Especially on what, darling?”

“Wh-when used on m-my ears,” Fingon managed before he cried out again, for Glorfindel withdrew his fingers, only to plunge them in again, out and in several times, before yanking them out and giving Fingon several hearty slaps on his rump.

“Excellent,” commended Glorfindel.  He slid his hand down, between Fingon’s legs, and fondled the twin globes he found there, occasionally stroking the impressive, hard length.  “You have shared many delightful ideas, but I think there are still a few you are holding back from me. I could just take a peek into that lovely, ordered mind of yours, but that would be very rude of me, so I shall not.  I want to know everything, but I also want something else,” he said as he slid his hand back and entered Fingon with two fingers again. Fingon whimpered beneath him as Glorfindel said, “Share with me three more things, and I will reward you handsomely.”

Fingon trembled and kneaded the sheet.  “I…”

“Yes?”  Glorfindel withdrew his fingers.

“I… I do not wish you to think ill of me.”

Glorfindel threw back his head and laughed.  “Darling, Erestor enjoys having his nipples practically twisted off, and I, well, I just like everything,” he said.  “Well, almost everything. I prefer not to be tied up.”

Fingon sucked in his breath.  A moment later, Glorfindel had him on his back.

“You.”

Fingon tried to look away, but Glorfindel grabbed his chin to steady him.  

“You like that.”

Fingon swallowed hard and nodded.  He put up no resistance when Glorfindel pinned his arms above his head.  “Like this?” asked Glorfindel.

“Higher,” begged Fingon, and he groaned when Glorfindel indulged him.

“Do you have any idea how thrilled Erestor is going to be?  Do you know how often he and I tried to do this, and I have not the taste for it,” said Glorfindel as he looked around for something that would aid in binding Fingon’s arms over his head.  “Oh, we tried. I attempted with ribbons once, but even that was too much for me.”

“Leather and chains,” said Fingon.  “So long as someone knows where the key is.”

“That revelation is certainly good for one,” said Glorfindel.  “It seems your tongue is loosening. Share with me another of your sensual secrets.”

“There is something I have done when I am alone,” said Fingon, finding it easier to talk at the moment, even though the weight of his lover pressed down upon him.  “There are few ways to participate in bondage solo, but I found something that was similar.”

“Out with it, you tease,” demanded Glorfindel as he pressed his own erection against Fingon’s thigh.  “Have you done this thing since coming to live here?”

“Only when I know you and Erestor will be out for a significant amount of time, and only behind locked doors,” he admitted.

Glorfindel leaned down and took Fingon’s bottom lip in his teeth.  He pulled on it a little before he dipped down for a kiss. “You are an idiot.  There is not a single thing I can fathom that would disgust us or turn us away from you, yet you keep secrets -- from us!  We can only be with you if you let us be with you, and we so desperately want that. Do you not want that?”   
  


Tears were streaming from the corners of Fingon’s eyes, down into the sheet below.  “I do. I want that,” he confided. “I need that.”

Glorfindel bowed his head and gently kissed Fingon.  “Tell me what you do, sweetness, in the shadows of the night when we are not there.  Tell me what you desire. I will not think badly of you, and neither will Erestor. It is very likely we will openly encourage you.”

Fingon licked his lips.  “Do you know what a corset is?”

“Of course-- oh.  Oh.” Glorfindel felt another stirring in his groin.  “If you are about to tell me that you like wearing corsets, I may just find release right now.”

A flush came over Fingon’s cheeks.  “Aredhel had one that she gave me when we were younger.  I figured out how to lace it on my own.” Fingon paused, and when he did not feel Glorfindel climax immediately, he continued with, “There were some days at the theatre when I was depressed, and I spent all day in bed, wearing a corset and masturbating.”

“And you thought this information was not worth sharing with us?” Glorfindel lifted his hands from Fingon’s wrists, only to twine his fingers with Fingon’s hands.  “Look at all of the missed opportunities for me to buy fancy corsets for you.”

“It just seems so strange to say these things,” said Fingon.  

Glorfindel shook his head.  “It seems strange you would not say these things to us.  And that is two. No doubt you have a third in mind.”

“You are going to laugh.”

“No.  I will not do that,” said Glorfindel.  “Neither will Erestor when you share all of this with him.”

Fingon’s eyes widened.  “I have to tell Erestor all of this?!”

“Yes,” insisted Glorfindel.  

“What if I just tell him about the bondage.  You said he would like that,” Fingon said.

“All of it,” said Glorfindel.  “Including what you are going to share with me now.  Because otherwise, I am going to tie you up in here, bring you to the brink several times, and leave you until morning, without giving you release.”  Fingon whimpered at these words. “Now tell me what else you enjoy.”

“It is more… I think I would like it,” ventured Fingon.  “Some years ago, Erestor took me to a place for dinner where I was blindfolded.  We took the blindfold home, sort of a joke, but… I was hoping for something else with it.  Anyhow, I have also been thinking of something from the other night, when I was… when you were…”

“When you were performing fellatio?” prodded Glorfindel.

Fingon nodded his head on the mattress.  “I was not fond of having something all the way down my throat, but I think I might like… you know…”

“Uh huh.  But you have to say it, darling,” Glorfindel said.

“I think I might like to be blindfolded and gagged.”  Fingon’s cheeks were bright red now. “And… and to just have you and Erestor… well, just, do whatever you would do to me.  It is not so much the act of making love that I desire, it is all of the variations of foreplay that precede the act.”

“You are a kinky little minx,” decided Glorfindel.  “I wish you had said something about all of this to me earlier.  Well. There will be time enough later for the rest of your secrets, but that makes three to me.”  Glorfindel nipped Fingon’s chin. “Well. No Erestor here to do whatever he will to you, but I am more than obliging.”  He bit along Fingon’s throat and waited until he heard a pleasing gasp to sit up. “I, on the other hand, do not intend to hide anything from you.  When I get up, I want you to get back on your hands and knees. I am going to finish spanking you as you so rightfully deserve, and then I am going to fuck you.  I am going to fuck you hard, until you are screaming my name, and then, just a little more, so you never forget this night.”

Fingon’s chest heaved, heart thumping.  “I--”

“No talking,” warned Glorfindel.  “Unless it is my name, or a damned good reason we need to stop.”  He untangled his fingers and eased up until he was standing. “Go on.  Show me that fine ass of yours.”

Fingon rolled onto his stomach and licked his lips.  He trembled as he got up on his hands and knees and waited.  Behind him, glass clinked together as Glorfindel picked through the selection of oils he had brought with him.  Soon, cool liquid dribbled over his cleft, and Fingon grunted when Glorfindel rubbed two fingers through it to coat them, and promptly shoved them into Fingon as deep as he could.  As Fingon howled at the unexpected intrusion, Glorfindel said softly, “Oh, right, I was supposed to spank you first. My mistake.” Instead of pulling his fingers out, however, he left them in, and wiggled them slowly, while he gave small smacks which graduated to firmer slaps.  He kept a close watch on Fingon’s demeanor, and as soon as he felt he was on the edge, his fingers slid out and his strikes ceased.

“Now you are just being cruel,” Fingon burst out with, and Glorfindel clicked his tongue.

“What did I say about talking?” asked Glorfindel.  He pulled at the sheet until he had the edge in his hand.  “I suppose I must do something about these outbursts,” he said as he tore off a strip of fabric down one side of the sheet.  An attempt to tear this in half failed, but he found a letter opener on the desk to aid him. “I guess we will find out if you enjoy this or not,” said Glorfindel as he took one of the strips and secured it over Fingon’s eyes.

“How will you hear me screaming your name?” asked Fingon as Glorfindel tied the blindfold tightly.

“Do not fret, my pet.  I shall know. I am a very good translator of muffled cries of passion.”  Glorfindel wadded up the cloth and took hold of Fingon’s jaw. “Open,” he said, and he was pleased that Fingon rather defiantly turned his head just slightly away, for he was certain that the roughness of it all was exciting them both.  Once the fabric was shoved partially into Fingon’s mouth, Glorfindel shoved down on his shoulders so that he had Fingon’s rear up in the air, and his back sloping down. “So lovely,” Glorfindel said, admiring his work for a moment, drawing his hand over the red and bruising skin.  He picked up the vial he had selected and shook it at his palm to get whatever remained from it. This he used to slick his erection, and without further warning, he breached Fingon, and began to pound into him as he had promised.

Prepared to hate what Glorfindel was going to do, but resigned to his fate anyhow, Fingon found that he was very confused and very aroused when Glorfindel’s hands took hold of his hips, and even more turned on when he felt the stiff rod ramming into him at a pace that was impressive and exhilarating.  Without logical consideration, he arched back, and moved his legs apart, and once he found the rhythm, his muscles pulled at the intrusion. He panted and moaned and in the end, he was screaming Glorfindel’s name through the cloth. 

“Louder,” commanded Glorfindel, and he slammed in harder each time Fingon’s voice rose.  As he felt his own desires coming to a head, Glorfindel renewed the strikes to Fingon’s rear, alternating sides as he urged Fingon to express himself louder.  Uncertain of how close Fingon was, Glorfindel gripped Fingon’s hips and delivered a series of frantic pulses, both thrusting his hips forward and pulling Fingon back against him at the same time.  After his release, he stayed rooted, pausing a few moments before giving a another hard thrust, and then again, and again, spacing them out so that Fingon would not know when to expect them. “Touch yourself,” Glorfindel hissed, and Fingon whimpered.  “I know you masturbate when no one is around, and I will not have you deny that to me. The next time we make love, it will begin with me watching you pleasure yourself. I want to see what really, really makes you writhe.” Glorfindel timed another thrust and Fingon whimpered.  “I can do this all night. Can you take it that long?” he queried before he pulled Fingon’s hips against him again.

Fingon’s head and heart were pounding, and his erection throbbed in time.  During most of the evening, Glorfindel had not touched him there, and when he had, he had not given much consideration to it.  Though he had great control, as well as the ability to climax without release, there were times such as this when Fingon felt so painfully full that he needed the physical catharsis.  Another thrust jolted through him, and he made the decision to stretch his arm, and reach his hand up. He only brushed the sensitive flesh at first, but another thrust made him feel the great need again, and he grabbed hold of himself.  Though he had no oil, his palms, like the rest of him, were sweaty, and he gladly used this as lubrication. As he gripped his erection, his movements became erratic, and Glorfindel encouraged him.

“Yes.  Take hold of that giant, marvelous cock of yours.  Think of how much pleasure it brings me to have it within me.  Think about how good it feels to slowly sink into my body with it.”  Glorfindel began with light taps, but he was soon spanking Fingon again.  An idea sprouted, and and he fumbled to grab the closest vial of oil, which was spread on his hand.  The next slap was louder than the others, and Fingon bit his lip in surprise. “Oh, if only I had thought of this earlier.  But then you might have come too soon.” Glorfindel administered several more smacks on either side, and with greater force than he had thus far.  Fingon was shaking, his body full of energy and desire in need of release. “Do it,” demanded Glorfindel as he plunged into Fingon a few more times before he slid his limp cock out and replaced it with three fingers that he pumped at a furious pace.  “Come for me, Fingon. Come for me; I command it!” 

A muffled gasp and several muted screams accompanied Fingon’s climax.  He collapsed as soon as he emptied onto the sheet, and for once, he did not seem to care that he was resting in a puddle of his own goo, nor that Glorfindel’s essense was slowly seeping out of his orifice and down his thigh.  The gag was pulled from his mouth, and he saw the spot of blood on it from his lip. Fingon only opened his eyes a moment before he closed them again, for all he saw was the fabric of the blindfold.

“Very good.  You have completed lesson one,” said Glorfindel.  He used the gag to clean up the fluid on Fingon’s thigh and to wipe away the excess oil from his skin.

“How many lessons are there?” Fingon asked in a tired voice.

“As many as there need be,” responded Glorfindel.  He left the room again, only to return with clean cloths which he used to bathe both himself and Fingon, wiping away the sweat and the evidence of their lovemaking.  A dry sheet was used to blot away the dampness, and once Glorfindel was satisfied, he lifted Fingon into his arms. “There will be as many lessons as there need to be, for I will not give up on you.  I will not give up on us.” He carried a once again emotional Fingon back to their bedroom, where Erestor was still sound asleep. “Any other night, and I would hold you while you fell asleep,” whispered Glorfindel as he deposited Fingon in his usual spot.  “However, he needs us more tonight, and you must forgive me that I choose to hold him instead.” Glorfindel kissed Fingon several times before he drew up the blanket and walked to his side of the bed.

Fingon rolled onto his side to gain closeness to Erestor, who slept soundly.  Glorfindel crawled into bed as well, and reached his arm around Erestor, and stretched a little more so that he could touch Fingon’s shoulder.  A few tears still glistened on Fingon’s face, though Glorfindel did not reach out to wipe them away. Instead he said, “It will all be well in time,” before he drifted to sleep.


	7. Day Seven

####  Early Morning Day Seven

  
  


Fingon had fallen into an uneasy sleep not fated to last terribly long. Some hours later he woke--sore, confused, upset, and chastised. Comforting foods and time to think--alone--were what was wanted. Rising gingerly, he stifled moans from the bruises that had not yet fully resolved, With a foggy head and a mind full of jumbles, he made his way as quietly as possible to the kitchen and proceeded to procure all the things that sounded appealing and soothing to his battered psyche.

In a large bowl, Fingon had a slice of cake and a slice of pie, and cream, and chocolate, and now contemplated the jar of cookies.  Typically not one to indulge in sweets, or to eat more than his usual meager meals, his instincts told him to get his hand out of the cookie jar.  His emotions, however, reminded him that chocolate was known to enhance one’s mood, and several cookies looked to indeed be made with chocolate. Maedhros came around the corner and drummed his fingers on the doorway.  “Is that a midnight snack or breakfast?”

“The cake would be a bit much if this was breakfast.”  Fingon fished two cookies from the jar, stuck one into the bowl, and took a bite from the other.  “Want any?”

Maedhros stepped closer and surveyed the contents.  While Fingon had chosen the two chocolate ones with sprinkles, Maedhros pulled what looked like a peanut butter cookie from the jar, and was not disappointed.  “I am curious about something, and taking the advantage that you are probably drained from your excursion, so that I might ask my question without fear of an ass kicking.”

Fingon invited further conversation with a twitch of his brow.

“Was it me, or was it… this,” Maedhros said as he waved at his crotch and Fingon, with one cookie in his mouth, rolled his eyes.  “or just my lack of--”

“Talk about arrogant -- why do you think it had to be about you?”  Fingon pointed the now half-cookie at Maedhros. “Maybe it was just that I was not at that point in my life.”

“Actually, that was what I thought, but I also thought that could get me punched.  Also, before you speak of arrogance, you should find a mirror.”

Fingon, who was now mid-bite, pulled the cookie out of his mouth.  “Maybe we were just sexually incompatible.”

Maedhros frowned with a furrowed brow.  “I would have been less insulted if you had blamed this on my dick.”

“Well, honestly, having seen what you have to offer, it is very similar to what I have, and I am fairly disgusted with my naked body, so it stands to reason I would have been mirroring something there.  I mean, clearly, I have a little more going on down there, but it is similar in--”

“Whoa… whoa, whoa… whoa.”  Maedhros taken aback, made several gestures and offered several facial expressions of disbelief before he said, “Yes, we are very similar, we would be, we come from the same stock, but Fingon… I am definitely the one with the greater endowment.”

“Uh huh.  Sure.” Fingon turned to leave with his bowl of treats, but Maedhros came around in front of him.

“Why do you think you are bigger than I am?  Oh, wait, I get it, this is that whole ‘I always win’ shit again,” Maedhros muttered.

“What?  No… this is not winning,” Fingon disputed.  “This is an inconvenience. I have the option of unseemly bulge at the front or skipping a loincloth, letting it drop down a pants leg, and hope I do not accidentally pinch it when I sit down.  Do you know how many times in my life I have had to hobble to a water closet to adjust myself? And not just my… that thing,” he settled on, blushing at the conversation. “My balls get caught in places I would rather they not be.  They get twisted and pulled, and they chafe, and get that smirk off your face, not in any way that is pleasant!”

“Are you two arguing about your cocks?” It was Gildor, entering the room to retrieve a third cup of coffee.  “Because if you are… I find that extremely hot and I encourage you to continue.” He stood to the side and licked his spoon suggestively.

“There is no argument to be had.  In fact,” said Maedhros as he loosened his belt, “we are going to settle this right now.”

“Not in the kitchen!  Put that back,” scolded Fingon as he moved around Maedhros and exited the room.  “I am not going to be a party to this!” he shouted over his shoulder.

“Too late!” called Maedhros back as he gave chase.  Gildor hastily found the sugar and skipped the cream in order to follow them.  “Fingon! Bring your cock back here!” he demanded as he walked past Glorfindel in the sitting room in order to get to Fingon, who had continued into the great room.  

Gildor paused when he reached Glorfindel, who had been awoken by Fingon’s sudden absence from the bed, and stood on the bottom step rubbing his eyes.  “Maedhros is, uh… trying to prove a point.” Gildor smirked and sipped his coffee.

Glorfindel looked toward the doorway and then back at Gildor.  “Alright, but… Fingon is…”

Gildor was grinning.  “I know. I saw. The whole thing.”  He leaned in to whisper to Glorfindel, “Lucky boy you are.”  He stood back up. “Well. I never miss a chance to see a cock.”  He continued on, whistling as he went. Glorfindel stretched and let out a little groan as his muscles begged for more rest, but continued to follow the others anyhow and entered the room just as Maedhros’ drawers hit the floor.  

“Well?”  Maedhros, standing only a few feet from Fingon, had his hands on his hips.  Gildor was grinning from ear to ear, clutching his mug with both hands as Glorfindel stopped beside him.  

Fingon had his bowl of assorted treats in his lap.  “I am sure it is exactly as I remember it.”

“I mean, show me yours.  Ante up, Fingon,” said Maedhros.  “Come on -- you do not have to look at it, you just have to show it to me.”

And that was when Asfaloth walked in from his part of the house.  He took a slow look around the room, and then swept his head back the other way again.  From his vantage point, he had a very close view of Maedhros’ rear. He raised a finger, mouth open, shook his head, and backed out of the room.  “Nope,” his voice echoed back at them as he shut his door loudly.

“I agree with Asfaloth,” said Fingon, who looked every which way but forward.

“I volunteer to measure them,” offered Gildor.  “Just so that there is an impartial party to all of this.”

“This seems quite unconventional,” opined Glorfindel.

“Thank you,” said Fingon firmly.

“I mean, from what I know, this is usually done when the penis is erect, not floppity moppity.”

Fingon slowly focused on Glorfindel.  “I thought you were on my side.”

“Floppity moppity,” snickered Gildor. “That is my new favorite.  Better than beflowering.”

“Come on, Fingon.  Just whip it out,” continued Maedhros.  “If you would rather we do this erect, that is fine with me.  I am sure our companions can help.”

“And again, I offer my services if you need someone to prepare both of you for that, since Glorfindel still seems to be waking up,” said Gildor.  “In the name of science, of course.”   
  


“What?  No.” Fingon sighed.  “Fine. Maedhros, you win.  Yours is definitely bigger. Silly me.”

“Oh, come on, I want to see it now.”  Maedhros crossed his arms over his chest.  “Why are you denying me this? Afraid you will actually lose?”

“Why are you obsessed about it?”  Fingon set his bowl aside. “This is why we did not work together,” he scolded as he stood up.  “It is not one thing, it is all of the little things, all of the little bickering between us.” Fingon untied his trousers, but kept them held up another moment.  “You have ten seconds, and then I never want this happening again.”

“Well, get on with it,” demanded Maedhros.

Fingon unclenched his fingers and shimmied his pants down.  He folded his hands and stared up at the ceiling. Glorfindel smiled, Gildor grinned, and Maedhros stared.

The sound of a door opening was heard, followed by Asfaloth’s voice.  “Are we still on for that ride to the market, Glorfindel? If not, I--”  He shut his mouth when he was in the doorway, blinked a few times, knocked his knuckles together with a mumble of ‘Oh, dear…’ before he retreated exactly as he had and closed his door again.

“It had to get bigger when you got taller,” reasoned Maedhros.

“I assure you, had that happened, I would not have been very happy,” replied Fingon with a grimace.

Glorfindel stood, the events of the previous evening still heavily occupying his mind, and walked to his husband. Though the effect of the alcohol had diminished some still remained. Standing on Fingon’s feet to ensure no trousers could be raised, Glorfindel rose up on his toes and took Fingon’s face in his hands.  _ I do not care about the contest for I already know who the winner is. I want to see this.  _ He ran his fingers up and down the edges of the ears.  _ I want to see this and know that you are mine. To know that your cock is for Erestor and I, and that Gildor can only dream about the pleasure it gives. I do not ask you to make love to me in front of them, but I want this much. If, that is, you would grant it to me. I will not beg you, but I am asking. The choice, as always, is yours.  _ Glorfindel pulled Fingon’s head down as far as was necessary to bestow a searing kiss, his tongue insistent and domineering.

Fingon began to tremble the moment Glorfindel’s fingers touched his ears.  The kiss pulled a groan from him, and his hands found their way to Glorfindel’s rump, giving it a good squeeze.  He fought to come up with an answer when he heard Gildor speak.

“Not that I am complaining, but it has been more than ten seconds.”

“You have about ten seconds to leave the room before I make love to my husband,” warned Fingon.

“Mmmm, sounds good,” Glorfindel praised, ghosting his fingers over the swollen arousal. “Now, close your eyes, and count backwards slowly from ten. Do not peek and you shall have a reward.”  Taking a moment, Glorfindel stepped back to compare Maedhros and Fingon. To his mind, there was not even anything to discuss, but he looked to Maedhros and Gildor with a raised eyebrow, as if to ask, “Well?” Maedhros was indeed well-endowed, but Fingon quite clearly exceeded him.

“Ten… nine…”

Gildor walked around behind Maedhros and then reached underneath to fondle his balls.  “Come on, baby… I bet you have another inch in there somewhere.”

“Eight… seven…”

“Might… take more… than an inch…” grunted Maedhros.

“Six…”

“Oh, goodness, no, not six more inches!” Gildor peered around.  “Well…”

“Gildor, you are not helping our cause,” scolded Maedhros.

Glorfindel grasped his own chin, obscuring his grin (or trying to) at the comedy unfolding before him, but out of good sportsmanship remained silent. He did, however, reach back in with a random sound that allowed Fingon to be reassured that his mate was the one touching him, brushing his arousal for good measure. “Oh, what I am going to do with you…” Glorfindel teased. “The only question is where I want it. Hmmm. Better hurry, boys.”

“Five…four…”

“Ow!  Gildor!” Maedhros slapped his mate’s hand away.  “What the fuck was that?”

“I mean… I know what to do to get it this long, so now I have to try other things to make it longer.”  Gildor looked around. “Seems to have the opposite effect.”

“Seems like it,” answered Maedhros tersely.  “When I told you I like it when you pull my hair--”

Fingon burst out laughing in the middle of ‘three’ when he caught on to what Gildor had tried.

“Three...”

“Gildor, I think you ought to concede. Though I will politely say that your mate has a beautiful body; perfect, elegant, and artistically proportioned. I hope you will agree so that I can get on with ravishing the equally perfect body of my husband since--”

“Two…” If anyone noticed that Fingon was dragging it out, they declined to comment aloud. 

“We concede on the technicality that Gildor apparently was not versed on the rules,” huffed Maedhros.

“I concede on the principle that I expect to have a good night whether I win or lose,” Gildor said.

“One?” Fingon asked. “May I open my eyes?” he asked meekly.

“Oh yes darling, you have been magnificent!” Glorfindel pressed up against him. “We claim the outdoors near the pool.”

“Is that how this works?” questioned Maedhros.  “Well, I am not leaving this room,” he declared.  He looked over his shoulder at Gildor. “Neither are you.”  Gildor grinned.

“Five minutes for grabbing towels and...things,” Glorfindel insisted. “Fingon, towels. Me, oil. Meet--outside.”

“Is it just me or is Glorfindel getting more assertive?” Gildor whispered only for Maedhros’ hearing. His mate did not answer but a distinct smirk could be seen forming.

Fingon whimpered a little as he looked down at his partial erection.  “Towels. Sure.” He leaned down and hoisted up his trousers. “I will be right there.”  He struggled, but managed to get to the closet, and then out to the hammock, where he dumped the bundle of towels in his arms.  The sky was just hinting that the day would dawn in a few hours. Fingon leaned against one of the trees that supported the hammock and stretched his back.  He was still sore from what had transpired hours earlier and doubted his abilities to engage in sexual activities so soon.

“There you are, my pet,” purred Glorfindel as he joined Fingon, settling his hands on Fingon’s shoulders.  “Now, if I am not mistaken, you mentioned something tonight about being fucked against a wall. I hope the wall of the pool or a nice tree might suffice.  It seemed so stuffy indoors.”

A little whimper escaped as Fingon closed his eyes.  “So long as I can walk in the morning.”

“When have I ever left you impaired?” Glorfindel teased, moving his erection into Fingon’s cleft while reaching around to caress and squeeze his thighs. “And look, you are near a tree right now.” He gave a smack to one of the firm globes. “Place your towel around the tree, and mine as well. I cannot have you becoming bruised or scratched unless it is of my doing.”

Very carefully, Fingon tended to the towels.  Once he made the necessary arrangements, he placed a hand upon the tree and took in a deep breath.  Too tired to mask his thoughts, and not sure if he was ever really able to from his mates, he recalled his first sexual encounter under a pine tree in the days of his youth.

“You might find it most enjoyable to hug the tree, and widen your stance just a bit. And tell me about your first time,” Glorfindel asked in a much gentler voice as his oiled fingers began to probe his mate’s entrance. “I would really like to know.”

With his arms wrapped around the tree, Fingon recalled the memory of the night spent under the giant pine in the forest.  “It was with Maedhros, as I am sure you have guessed,” he said. He pressed his cheek against the bark of the tree. “It was the first time we were alone, really alone, and we were only going to kiss.  We kissed for a long while, and had a little nest from the bedrools and the pine needles, and then Maedhros stopped kissing my lips and moved to other places. Then he sucked on my skin, and nipped at me, and I wanted to tell him to stop, except I did not, because I was enjoying it.  I had… I had never…” He groaned at the feel of Glorfindel’s hands upon him.

“Never what, sweetheart?” A few very gentle rubs to his ears and the first exploring finger accompanied the question. “I am already liking this tale a great deal.”

“I had never touched myself before.”  Fingon swallowed hard. “He… he showed me… we spent weeks in the woods… he showed me how to pleasure myself.”  Fingon’s cheeks burned. “The first night, I was very aroused. I felt so many wonderful things. We nearly made love -- well, he nearly made love to me.  I guess I was… encouraging, until he was just about to. He still saw to it that I found release first. He used his hands and his mouth, and then he rubbed against my thigh and we came together.  He was very sweet about it,” recalled Fingon with a hint of regret to his voice.

Glorfindel had slowed his ministrations to listen. “That sounds...beautiful. I confess I am envious, for you were shown love. Not just sex. And yet I feel I hear something amiss in your voice. Did you not feel good about your experience?”

Fingon turned his head to rest the opposite cheek against the trunk.  “You may not know this, but he and I did not have a continuous relationship.  We were apart for a few years on more than one occasion.”

“While I do not know all the nuances, I was...I had the impression that something of that nature was the case. And that had a bearing on this?” Now the finger worked with greater diligence, occasionally ghosting across his prostate.

As he clung to the tree, Fingon grunted freely and found he was moving his body in time with Glorfindel’s preparations.  “Three years and two months the first time,” he recounted. “I was undoubtedly at my physical peak and I am sure there were many others who might have liked the chance at me.  I found out that Maedhros had taken an interest in someone else. Nothing serious. The beginnings of a romance. I was so selfish. I was not particularly interested, but I still thought of him as mine.  I went to see him, and invited him on a walk, and deliberately took him to a pine tree, and once again we repeated what he had done once before, and he was mine again. I remember falling asleep that night thinking I was not sure if I truly loved him or even wanted to be with him, but that I could not bear to think of someone else being with him.  Every time we were apart, as soon as I had it on authority that he was spending time with someone else, I would find a way to trap him by himself or invite myself over, and every time I would get him alone outside under a tree. It always worked, so I just kept doing it, through not one but two lives.”

Glorfindel frowned, not liking to hear this but also recognizing that he could not cause Fingon to regret his honest admissions. “Is this why your telling of your first experience is tinged with some kind of regret, or is there something else?”

“I feel like I unfairly told him no more often than I should, just because I could.  That was the part I have yet to share about that first night, Glorfindel. When I asked him to stop, he told me I should never be afraid to tell him no, because he would always listen to me.  And he always did.”

“So you enjoyed the power over him more than you loved him?” Glorfindel asked, his voice still gentle. Inside of himself, however, he began to feel deeply troubled.

“That was the problem,” admitted Fingon.  “I di-- I do love him.” He bit his lip and pressed his forehead against the bark of the tree.  “I was young and dumb, and then I was old and dumb, and by the time I realized what I did, it was too late.”

“Káno, I am going to tell you something very honest. I still love Gildor.” Glorfindel continued to massage at Fingon’s secret spot, while his spare hand roved all over. Kneading at Fingon’s buttock, roving his lower navel and chest, pinching his thigh--but not touching the arousal he felt reasonably certain was present by now.

Fingon let out a moan and dug his fingers into the bark of the tree.  “Tell me… tell me about your first time with him,” Fingon pleaded. “Was… was he… like Maedhros was for me?  Your first?”

“He was,” Glorfindel said. “I suppose you would need to define which first time,” Glorfindel smiled. “The first time he ever touched me in a sexual manner, or the first time he used his fingers on me to pleasure me inside?” Glorfindel snorted at the memory, his voice tinged with sadness. “You see, unlike with you and Maedhros, there was not love for me--only lust. For I already loved Erestor and desired him more than any other. But he was unattainable, and I was a young, randy gay man in Turgon’s Gondolin. Gildor saw me for what I was; prey begging to be captured. Sometimes, I had pleasure. Sometimes, I did not. He could be cruel, and Erestor told me more than once that he was using me. Endangering me, even.” Glorfindel’s voice wavered at the memory, before it steadied again. “But it was indeed him that introduced me to the pleasures my body could give. I do not remember those early times so fondly. We had a very long and tangled history, much of it arguably marked by him using me. Or maybe it was us using each other. It was fantastic sex with no real commonality of our hearts. Still, many a night I spent in his arms, when otherwise I would have had utter loneliness and isolation.” Glorfindel shrugged. “A shared experience, until far in the future my dreams came true.”

“When you finally spent the first night with Erestor,” said Fingon, a wistful hint to his voice.

“No,” Glorfindel said, deeply surprised. “The night I married you. I thought you knew.” Though he tried to stave it off, a tinge of hurt lingered on his words.

“I--”  Fingon’s head bowed shamefully, hair catching on the bark.  “I always thought… I just assumed he was… more to you than I could ever be,” he said, the last word trailing off in tears.

Glorfindel held him very tightly, and did not speak. After, he resumed his pleasuring of Fingon, hoping to say with his body what words seemed inadequate to convey. Fingers massaged ears, other fingers massaged deep within. At one with his mind, Glorfindel followed every nuance, every unspoken want, and did his best to fulfill that as he prepared his partner for his body.

For some reason, Fingon’s initial expectation was to be rejected somehow, or to receive a much different response.  That Glorfindel continued to bring him physical joy, and to do so without scolding words or disappointment in his thoughts was momentarily humbling.  Fingon let go of the tree with one hand in an attempt to make purchase, to touch Glorfindel some way in return, but his stance was all wrong for it. “I want to kiss you,” he said suddenly, and tried to crane his neck around without losing hold of the tree.

“Then you must choose between being fucked against a tree, or kissing me. If you want the latter, put the towels on the grass and lie down on your back. Then I will love you with us able to share that.”

The latter was chosen, and Fingon made haste to spread the towel on the ground, and himself upon the towel before he reached his hand up to beckon Glorfindel to join him.

Glorfindel placed himself between his lover’s legs, and edged up his long torso until he could claim the soft lips he desired. “You are so tall,” he chuckled. “But I love it. I love your body.” For emphasis he ran his hand up and down the exquisitely chiseled frame, descending to kiss him fervently. One hand rested under Fingon’s neck while the other tapped here and there at the sensitive ear.

Hunger renewed, Fingon made a few attempts to dominate their kissing, but on his back he found he was unable to do so.  As soon as Glorfindel’s fingers teased his ear, he was at his lover’s mercy, and drowned in the pleasure of the kisses as his body pulsed and he released with a stifled scream as he pressed his hand over his own mouth.

Several tender kisses and caresses were bestowed while Fingon recovered from his pleasure. Unsatisfied for the moment, Glorfindel kissed his way down chest and belly until he arrived at the slick patch of skin created by his lover’s climax. Curious, he flicked out a tongue, for he rarely had the opportunity to taste. To him it seemed indistinguishable from Erestor’s, but he was hardly a connoisseur, he grinned to himself. Further indulgences in the form of little flicks of the tongue here and there on his lover’s body were taken, before he crawled back up to give a mischievous peck on the cheek. “Did I do alright?” he wanted to know, resting his chin on his hand.

The additional attention managed to rather unexpectedly excite Fingon again, and he rolled his body as he pushed Glorfindel onto his back, now pinning the blond beneath him.  "You were fantastic," murmured Fingon as he pressed his erection against Glorfindel's thigh and nibbled along his throat. "I could not help but notice that you did not finish the performance.  As for me, I am always good for an encore."

“Choose a number between one and ten,” Glorfindel teased, not resisting Fingon’s sudden dominance.

“Eight,” came the answer, though he very much wondered about the purpose of the question.

“Mmmm. That simplifies matters. Had you chosen five or below, I would have asked to finish inside your body. But eight...please would you take me? The oil is not far from your left hip. I should not require much preparation as long as there is enough lubricant.”

“Then what else would you like?”

“I want a moment to think on that,” the blond mused. “Perhaps while you ready me?”

Riding off of the positive feelings, Fingon uncorked the bottle and dribbled a generous amount into the depression between his lover’s testes, entranced as first the oil pooled before flowing toward the root of his penis then tracking downward toward his entrance. As the fingers carefully stretched and gave enjoyment, his thumb accidentally brushed against another entrance, surprising Fingon. He knew, but somehow he had forgotten. Though he was curious, he felt he should stay far away, and mumbled his sincerest apologies.

For a moment, Glorfindel tensed, before relaxing again. “You may look, if you want to. I do not blame you for wondering.” A very deep breath was taken in, then let out. “I trust you. I know you would never do what he did to me.”

“You are certain?” Fingon said slowly, wanting to be very sure. “Because if you are not--”

“I am,” Glorfindel told him more firmly. “Go on. Look. I want you to. I have talked all night about trust and faith and I have no right to ask what is difficult from you if I am unwilling to give all of it. My body is yours,” he whispered.

Licking his lips, Fingon carefully lifted the sac to see what it hid. He could hardly remember how long ago it was that he had seen the intimate parts of a woman, but...this was not really as he recalled. This was more of a slit, with little other external definition. “Does it hurt?” he asked worriedly, a finger gently circling a safe distance around the entrance. A sharp intake of air came from Glorfindel. “I am sorry!” Fingon cried, immediately removing his hand.

“No! Do not stop I--that felt nice and it startled me. I am--he always--you know what? Fuck him. I--I want you to do that again. Like you did before, so softly.”

Fingon continued his preparations, occasionally using a finger or thumb to ghost near the second entrance, to which Glorfindel seemed to respond very favorably. In emphasis, Glorfindel opened his mind to Fingon, sharing what the touches did to him. Hesitating, Fingon closed his eyes. “I feel I barely have a right to ask this, but I would like to try something. I promise that if you wish me to I will stop.”

“You have every right to ask, and the answer is Yes,” Glorfindel said, struggling against a sense of worry even as he told himself that Fingon would never hurt him. Groans were elicited, as the preparations came to include slow and deliberate stroking of his hidden gland. When satisfied that his lover was ready, he leaned back on his heels, cupping the shapely bottom and bringing it onto his lap. With a final oiling to both of them, Fingon slowly sank his cock into Glorfindel’s body. The blond breathed heavily from the ecstasy of feeling so filled. Holding Glorfindel’s hips, Fingon pulled out and moved in again slowly to orient himself, until he was satisfied he had his bearings. While one hand remained on Glorfindel’s hip with a strong grip his other fingers gently held the scrotum out of his way, allowing a well-oiled finger to circle the other entrance with barely perceptible pressure. “Oh!!” Glorfindel threw his head back, wide-eyed. “What are you doing? That is...more! Please more…”

Smiling, Fingon carefully described ovals around the opening, which slowly showed signs of glistening. When Glorfindel’s moans came almost unceasingly, Fingon would at times caress the opening, never trying to push inward. The small but completely engorged erection in front of him occasionally he teased, while he spent equal time marveling that his husband had a unique erogenous zone. Satisfied that he had given pleasure, Fingon stretched forward to kiss his husband, driving his long shaft languidly deep into his lover’s body. When the time seemed right and he knew Glorfindel craved release, he worked very hard to massage Glorfindel’s little gland with his penis.

“S-so close,” Glorfindel said, eyes shut and wearing an expression that hinted at imminent release. 

“Good,” Fingon said. “Now I will work you harder until I burst inside of you.”  

Only a moan came by way of answer. Glorfindel raised his knees high to encircle his lover’s back with his legs, drawing Fingon down to closely cover his body. Arms followed, and soon they were molded tightly together. Glorfindel’s mouth found and latched onto Fingon’s nipple. His tongue lapped at the sensitive spot and he moaned with rapidly increasing volume into the sculpted chest. The heat rising in his groin was not like anything experienced before. When he and Erestor used this position, the dark elf’s far more ordinary endowment did not allow for the constant close contact without frequent episodes of losing their physical connection. Fingon’s impressive length, however, suffered no such problems. Glorfindel felt his penis brushed at almost every stroke by the hard abdominal muscles, and thought he might go out of his mind with pleasure. He wanted this ecstasy to last, even while knowing it was impossible because he could not stave off the rapid ascent toward his release. When he was at the very edge, he released his embrace to caress his lover’s ears.  _ Come with me,  _ he cried in thought.

At the first touch of his ears Fingon already felt Glorfindel going rigid beneath him, with his release imminent, but the focused assault on his most erogenous spot left him helpless. With a soft gasp he felt himself immediately taken to the edge. His body reacted all on its own, ramming into Glorfindel hard as he soared past any point of return and clung so tightly to his mate, seeking to meld their flesh together in every manner possible. 

The occasion of their bonding had been a first pinnacle of bliss for Glorfindel with Fingon, and this achieved a second. The nearly feral grunts and wild thrusts told him that his lover was in a frenzy of enjoyment, and that he was the cause of it. Every deep piercing of his body brought a fresh stab of joy. Fingon’s endowment filled him so tightly that it even was possible to perceive the pulsing of his ejaculations. The mere notion of this caused the blond to shudder and writhe far beyond the spasms of his own climax. Bucking hard into Fingon’s belly, he felt the spurts of his own release leaving his body. If he had ever come this hard before, he could not say when it might have been. After their shared ecstasy, they collapsed. Fingon rolled them somewhat to the side, concerned that his weight would impede Glorfindel’s ragged breathing. Both their lungs struggled for air while their hearts thundered together.

“Want to...kiss you,” Glorfindel managed to gasp, though he knew it would mean losing their physical connection.

Fingon smiled, exulting. He corkscrewed his body into what seemed like an impossible position, remaining firmly embedded in his mate, and even adding a thrust for good measure before kissing him soundly. Glorfindel groaned into his mouth, for the experience could not be any more perfect. Fervently he returned the kiss; when they needed air they broke apart only enough to gulp it down. Hot mouths still brushed against each other, ready for the next kiss. Thus they remained for a long while, far past the time Fingon finally slid out of his lover’s body. Replete in spirit, they finally struggled to rise. “Pool?” Glorfindel asked.

“Pool,” Fingon answered. They crawled in a haze to the ladder, and most amusingly on all fours entered the water, laughing like little elflings at their own silliness. Hands rubbed each other clean, followed by Glorfindel attaching himself and melding against his husband.

“Did that really just happen?” Glorfindel reeled under the stars, still giddy. He leaned far back in Fingon’s hold, his arms extended toward the sky, trusting that he would be kept supported. “That was the single most pleasurable sexual encounter of both my lives, and I will never forget this night or that you granted it me. I do not have words. Right now I do not know whether to feel selfishly thrilled, or guilty that Erestor was not here to share it. Either way, I love you very much.” Righting himself, he resumed his embrace, taking advantage of his buoyancy to be able to look in Fingon’s glinting eyes. Glorfindel brushed his lips across Fingon’s cheek in another soft kiss. All the while, the tall elf remained silent. “Are you--I worried about coming out here, after everything earlier tonight. I was afraid of overwhelming you--I hope I did not. I did not expect it to turn into the encounter that it did; I thought I was going to pleasure you as best I could before we returned to bed.” Now a quick kiss was placed on the tip of Fingon’s nose. Still Glorfindel was all smiles, as he kept chattering. “Sometimes, that just happens, you know. There is a reason make-up sex is some of the best anyone ever has.” The quiet persisted, and suddenly Glorfindel worried. “Káno? Are you alright?” 

Tightly Fingon held onto his mate, and slowly he nodded, but he knew he had to provide an explanation, for that would not suffice.  “I feel like keeping the thoughts in my head to myself, because I do not quite understand what I am feeling, except that I expect sooner or later you will stumble upon them, and, I really want… I really want to have an openness in our relationship after all of the pain I have caused you and Erestor.  I wish I did not constantly doubt myself.”

“You are worrying about worrying?” Glorfindel asked slowly, trying to understand.

“Shit, I guess I am,” said Fingon without having to analyze this assessment for long.  He bowed his head to nuzzle Glorfindel’s neck, and when he straightened up, he said, “I wholeheartedly agree with your assessment.  That was by far the most exhilarating sexual encounter I have participated in, ever.” He chewed his lip. “The reflections whirling around in my mind are causing a great deal of self-doubt on my part.  One, I am trying to comprehend how all of the individual things cause nearly certain revulsion for me, and yet combined create a bliss from which I emerge with the feeling of wholeness and pure, undiluted love.”

“You still struggle with the icky parts of sex, like penises and semen and slobber everywhere?” Glorfindel repeated, as he tried to translate his lover’s words into something that made sense to him. “Or do I have that wrong?”

“Completely accurate.  Each one of those elements disgusts me, but put them all together, and I feel glorious.  It is almost as if they all have to… overwhelm me into submission.” Fingon breathed in deeply through his nose, then out slowly from his lips.  “The other part is… harder to vocalize. Maybe because I have no word for it. I will try.” He looked away distantly for a moment, and then back.  “I have never been more aroused than I was tonight.”

“What do you think made the difference?” Glorfindel asked. The dialogue between them was perhaps more relished than the sex had been.

“You,” he said, and it was the first time he had sounded certain since he began speaking.  “Until tonight, er, this morning… I would have told anyone who asked that I was gay. Now, I have no idea what to call it.  Yes, I find men desirable, but…” He shook his head. “See? I have no words for it, and even saying what I have makes it all sound like a superficial desire.”

“Me...do you mean my extra anatomy that every other man does not have? That was a turn-on? Or something else? I admit I am a little confused here. And yes I know I could just look in here” he tapped the side of Fingon’s head carefully, “but I think more is to be gained for us if we try to use words right now.”

“What you call ‘extra’ just seems… perfect, to me.  I just never really gave it a lot of thought until tonight,” said Fingon softly.

“Thank you for your kindness, but I think we both know that a man having a vagina is a little out of the ordinary. Alright, a lot out of the ordinary. I am just glad that it does not repulse you and that you did not try to..Faelion used to…” He paused, trying to gather the courage he expected Fingon to have. “Time and again I thought Faelion would make love to me. Instead I got thrown onto the bed, face down. He would lubricate himself ahead of time and then ram his cock into me. Into my vagina. I would plead with him, beg, that he would be gentler or slow down, but he held me down and told me it was important to do it like this to improve our chances of conceiving. I cried from the agony of it--so much pain--but it was also when I might get some affection from him, after he finished. He would tell me I had done well, that he loved me--things like that.” Glorfindel sighed and wiped a stray tear off his cheek. “Tonight is the first time anyone but him ever ventured near there, and also the first time something about that place on my body actually was made to feel good. I did not know it  _ could _ feel good. For that I am more grateful than you can know.”

“I never want to do something you are not fully interested in,” said Fingon.  “You already know about my past. Although there are times when I am an outright ass, I will always have respect for you, and to me that is all of you, spirit and body.”

Glorfindel blinked. “Your past is one of many reasons I trust you during intimacy,” he admitted. “Maybe I should have said it differently. My body underwent changes when I had the surgery done. It was not really positive for me until now, and I owe that to you. I just know that I do not have to be afraid, and you proved that tonight. I love you.” Reaching up, he kissed him again on the lips. “I love you and I do not know how I will get out of this pool, unless it is the way we came in,” he laughed. “I wonder how strange it would be for Gildor and Mae to see us crawl through the house on our way upstairs.”

“I think I can muster the strength to get us out of here,” offered Fingon.  He gathered all his reserves and brought Glorfindel to the ladder. Once he was sure of his footing, Fingon had Glorfindel cling to his back, arms around his neck and legs at his waist, before he climbed out.  He bent low enough for Glorfindel to grab a single towel from the pile, which Glorfindel sloppily managed to get around his shoulders like a cape without losing his hold on Fingon, and then slowly Fingon made his way to the house with Glorfindel on his back.

In the kitchen, they found Maedhros and Gildor, disheveled and sitting across from one another dreamily feeding each other small morsels they had gathered and sharing a bottle of wine.  “Good show,” complimented Gildor with polite applause. “It appears to have been a successful evening for all.”

“I take it the pool is free?” ventured Maedhros as Glorfindel was lowered to the ground and made haste to dry off before there was a puddle on the floor.

“Towels are in the hammock,” said Fingon.  Maedhros grinned, and in short order had hoisted Gildor up over his shoulder and was carrying him out the door.  Gildor playfully protested, but it only took a single loud slap to his ass to get him to sing a different tune.

“I thought I wanted tea but now that I am here all I really want is bed,” Glorfindel lamented, looking up at Fingon from his charmingly akimbo position on the floor. The towel was wrapped snugly over his hair and torso, leaving everything from his chest down bare naked. His legs were splayed, and he looked altogether like a lost little boy with dimples.

Fingon crouched down and picked up Glorfindel in his arms, caring little about the trail of water he was leaving.  “Then you shall have bed,” he said as he carried Glorfindel up to the room they shared with Erestor. After Fingon set Glorfindel into bed, knowing full well they were both to be in for much swearing the next morning when hair would need to be detangled from drying wet in bed, he shaded the room with drawn curtains and used clothing discarded from a previous night to wipe off the excess water on his body.  By the time he joined his mates, both were sleeping soundly. A soft sigh issued from Fingon as he scooted close to Erestor and reached an arm around to settle his hand on Glorfindel’s back. “You are perfect,” he whispered, knowing his words would not be heard. “I just wish I could find the words to explain what I mean.”

Immediately Fingon fell asleep, thoroughly relaxed and tired out. Erestor woke to his last words and blinked in surprise, turning his head to see his lover asleep and wondering if he had just dreamed that--but he chose not to. Smiling, he carefully sat up whilst rubbing at his eyes. A stretch and a yawn later, it became obvious that sleep was over for now. He set about the delicate task of extricating himself from his lovers without waking them. Donning a light robe, he made his way out of the room, the events of yesterday already beginning to whirr in his mind.

The house was quiet, and Erestor considered breakfast when he reached the kitchen, where he found a trail of water on the floor.  After mopping it up, and wondering what his lovers had been a party to in the early morning hours, he heard the sounds of splashing and shouting outdoors.  There was some sunflower crispbread left over from a few days prior, and he placed this in a basket with dried apples and an empty jug for milk. When he stepped outside, he found Maedhros and Gildor engaged in some game of their own making in the pool.  “This may not be a library, but I am going to shush you all the same,” he warned as he approached. “Some members of this household are just getting to bed.” The basket was set in the hammock with the supply of towels, and he slipped out of his robe to join them.  

“They should sleep soundly, whether or not we are noiseless,” said Maedhros, and he explained in brief what transpired between Fingon and Glorfindel, with Gildor adding in all of the most delectable details he felt necessary.

One detail was left out.  “So who won the ‘contest’?” asked Erestor.  He received the answer as Gildor shrugged and Maedhros grumbled.  “Have either of you slept?”

“Define sleep,” said Maedhros, and Gildor laughed.  “No, Tatannen, we have not.” Maedhros swam lazily across the pool on his back, for it was a wide area, even though it was most customary for those using the pool to stay near the hammock.  Midway, Maedhros dived down backwards, and popped back up beside Gildor. “I had no idea you had oysters down there,” said Maedhros.

“We have oysters down there?” questioned Erestor.  He now dived under to look.

“Apparently, neither did he,” said Gildor to Maedhros.  “My first thought is, lunch, but he is probably down there naming them all right now.”

“My first thought is, profit,” said Maedhros.  “They are swimming over a potentially lucrative resource.”  When Erestor popped back up he asked, “Did you see them?”   
  


“I guess there are oysters down there,” admitted Erestor.  “I thought that was just rocks -- I never took a good look.”  He swam back over. “That explains what keeps the water so clean for us.”

“I wonder if any of them have pearls you can harvest,” suggested Maedhros.

Erestor frowned immediately.  “That would kill them,” he said.  “I do not want to disturb them or their habitat.”

“There are actually methods to extract pearls without killing the oyster,” revealed Maedhros.  “Curufin has a very precise technique he uses; Celebrimbor likely knows how to do it as well. It is something to give thought to.”

“Well...it is not that I doubt your word, but I feel like I would need to see it to feel convinced,” Erestor equivocated.

“More like, talk to the oysters and ask if it was hurting them,” Gildor teased, only to see Erestor’s face fall into unhappiness. “Erri, I am sorry. I did not mean it as a slight.”

“Everyone makes fun of me about it, you might as well,” Erestor said, recovering a little.

“Your gift is a source of humor sometimes, I will not pretend otherwise,” Gildor told him, beckoning him to come near. “But it is also one I have admired. I have no such talent, but I too love Eru’s creatures. Differently than you, maybe, but I would rather see the care you have than those who show them no regard.” 

Erestor’s smile was restored. “Well...thank you, then. I did not mean to be accusatory. The sum of my life has made me a little paranoid about certain things.” He approached near to them, which admittedly made for easier conversation. Unexpectedly Gildor hugged him chastely, with hips held away from Erestor. At first Erestor felt shocked and nervous, but when the embrace continued, his resistance faded away...slowly, but not completely. Worry, and fear that this would displease Fingon would not leave him. Though he wanted to enjoy the moment it felt impossible, so he gently extricated himself.

Again, Gildor apologized.  “I did not mean to cause you discomfort,” he said, and he even moved away slightly.  “I only wished to show my appreciation.”

“I am still… caught in a difficult place,” admitted Erestor.  “There is no need for apology.”

Maedhros smiled sadly.  “Remember Tatannen, you are your own person.  Of all of us, Fingon is the most unlike how he once was.  He used to be a proponent for truth and justice. At one time, he held some of the most sensual parties off the coast of Ekkaia, and encouraged me to participate, though he knew I had no interest, because he did not want me to be left out of them.  His solitude did something unhealthy to him. His fear manifests as anger, and he became extremely paranoid. It did not help matters that the Valar pulled him from the Halls of Waiting before he wanted to leave. He was an experiment, you know. They wanted to see what would happen if a kinslayer was reborn, and he was chosen for being what they deemed ‘mostly harmless’.  He wanted so badly to stay. He fought them, Tatannen, but they were stronger, and it happened too fast. It was the only time anyone ever heard screaming like that in the Halls. He was so frightened and in so much pain, and yet they tore him away from there, like the way orcs used to rip unborn infants from the wombs of their mothers in an attempt to corrupt them. I can only imagine, if this is the result of my haste,” he said as he lifted his arm devoid of his hand, “what he, the one who was killed by having his head split open, is dealing with.”

Slowly, Maedhros had closed the distance, yet remained so that he was not touching Erestor.  “Even Gildor does not know all of the details I am about to speak, which I left in the past out of respect for Fingon.  I saw what happened when my father threatened his brother, and yet the threat was idle, for he could not, and would not, have killed Fingolfin.  In the case of the theatre, Fingon and I remained in separate houses. At first, we would spend equal time at each residence. Slowly, he made more and more requests for me to come to him.  We used to eat at this little pub in the woods, and venture to the village not far away. That came to an end; he only accepted food I brought to him. I spent more and more time there, because he had nightmares, and he was losing weight, and he just seemed to get hurt more often.  I did not know if he was being careless or if it was something else.”

At this point, Maedhros paused, and Gildor came closer to embrace him.  “I wish you had told me these things, because they had an obvious effect on you, but I respect that you chose not to,” said Gildor.  “I am here for you, my darling.”

With a nod, Maedhros continued.  “The night in the theatre, when the walls came down, was on account of me saying no to him.  I told him he needed to seek help that I could not give on my own. He said it was because I did not stay with him all the time.  I reminded him that he could not have it both ways -- that if ‘together forever’ was on the table, I wanted to be bound to him, not just living under his roof.  He accused me of being with someone else, and I knew it was the paranoia speaking. I told him we would discuss things later; he demanded then and there. I told him fine, my last conversation then was that we should separate for good.  I had to think of my own mental health and safety, and I was not in a good situation. He stormed out, and I thought we were done, and then he came back with one of those damned rocks my father created, and the next thing I knew, there was rubble everywhere.  I still do not know, and maybe he does not know either, whether he meant to kill me, or if he was trying to kill himself in front of me. I left; I walked away mostly unharmed. I had a few scratches, but he was… bruised and bleeding, but I left him there, because I felt he would mend on his own, and honestly, I had to leave.”

Maedhros swallowed hard.  “Somewhere, he is still there, the valiant, playful, confident man I fell in love with in the early days of Valinor, when we were all still so innocent.  I just wish I had a map or something I could give you so that you can find him, Tatannen. I do not want you to lose him, but I do not want you to lose yourself trying to find him, either.”

“I…” Unwittingly Erestor reached a hand to Gildor’s shoulder to steady himself, for it felt like the water moved suddenly. Gildor fired a worried look at Maedhros and slipped his arm around Erestor’s back in order to steady him. 

Both Erestor’s hands came up to press in on the sides of his head, his eyes closed. Struggling to process the second very significant revelation in a matter of days went to open war with the many secrets of his own past.

“Erri, please believe me, it will be alright. We will not leave you to go through all of this alone,” Gildor said softly, glaring at Maedhros until his partner began to stroke the dark hair.

“You do not understand,” Erestor whispered, tears shed in numbness streaking down his face. “It is not only that I married him knowing so little about his past. It is that…” he swallowed hard. “It is that I am perhaps worse. As you can guess, there is so much that I have never revealed to Fingon. To either of them. I now understand the pain of that better than ever before, and yet it does not help me to know how to begin. My heart clings to one thing--for all our secrets, I know there is love. Knowing all of this would have changed nothing for me. I cannot lose him. I cannot. He is… I am…” 

Gildor exchanged silent words with Maedhros, his expression in deadly earnest. After a brief pause, Maedhros nodded his assent. Gildor used a crooked pair of fingers to gently lift Erestor’s chin. “Erri, you may not know how to help each other, or yourselves. But I do. And I am nothing if not a persistent little asshole.” 

This earned a small, weak smile from Erestor. “True,” he whispered, his trembling hand taking hold of Gildor’s. 

“There, that is what I want to see,” Gildor grinned. “In all seriousness, though, we are going nowhere. I will be here to help.” 

“I feel like such a loser,” Erestor said hollowly. “My weakness has caused more problems than I am worth.” He waved at them in exasperation. “Save the lecture! I know that no one but me wants to see it that way, but there are times I have to say it out of despair or self-pity, I know not which. I thank you even as I feel ashamed that it all has come to this, and before you tell me that it is not my fault…” he trailed off.

“Yes?” Gildor chuckled.

“I think I shall shut up now,” Erestor murmured, splashing water on his face, though even he was seeing the humor in it. 

“And that is how we will get through it, Erri. With each other, finding our way together,” Gildor said, while Maedhros nodded in agreement.

“I wish I could cook us breakfast,” Erestor lamented. “All I am good for is grating squash.”

“It so happens we can manage better,” Maedhros smiled. “If you help us, we can cook, and I promise Fingon will not realize we have been in his kitchen.”

Erestor laughed. “I guess you would know about that part. Silly me.”

“Yes,” Maedhros answered. “Silly you.” He booped Erestor’s nose.

The trio moved to the kitchen, and proceeded to make a rather large breakfast, opting not to dress before they began.  “I can only imagine Fingon’s face if he saw us right now,” said Maedhros at one point.

“What?  It is not as if I used my dick to stir the pancake batter,” defended Gildor.  This and other slightly suggestive comments kept them in stitches for the duration of their endeavor.  Once all of the food was arranged on the table, Gildor had another, more palatable suggestion. “Erri, what if you took breakfast up to your sleepy boys upstairs?  We can get everything onto a tray for you, and the three of you can have a delicious breakfast in bed together.”

“That would be very sweet,” decided Erestor.  

“You two get the food ready; I am going to pick some flowers for the ambience.”  Gildor headed outside and straight to a patch of flowers he had spied earlier. On his way, he passed Asfaloth, who was about to enter the house.

“If this is going to be a usual thing, I am going to stop trying so hard with the clothing thing,” snorted the horse, in his pseudo-Elven form, hands on his hips, wearing a flowy white shirt and brown suede breeches, with tall brown boots, and a large daisy haphazardly tucked behind an ear.

Gildor plucked a few purple and white blooms and came back around.  “You do a wonderful job with the clothing,” remarked Gildor. “I meant to ask who your tailor is.”

“Me.”  Asfaloth twisted to one side to display his work.  “Nothing up my sleeve… because I literally have no sleeves.  This is all just projection. Very fancy and well-thought out projection.”

“So you are really just naked, too,” said Gildor.

Asfaloth snorted.  “Well, yes, but I am not a savage!”  He flipped his long hair back and huffed.  “I think I am going to go take a dump in the roses and then partake in this pool everyone is so crazy about.”

“As long as you do not take a dump in the pool, I am sure that will be fine,” said Gildor on his way back in.  The tray was nearly ready when Gildor returned, and he put the finishing touches into a small vase Erestor found on a shelf before sending off the dark elf with his best wishes at a very good morning.

“Where shall we have breakfast?” asked Maedhros.

Gildor looked at the spread.  “I have half a mind to shove all of that on the floor so that we can finally have sex on this table, but considering how hard we worked and how tired I am, I wonder if we can figure a way to take it back outside with us.  

“Sex in the pool?” guessed Maedhros.

“Only if you want the horse watching us.  He was heading in there as I was coming back inside,” said Gildor.

“Pass.”  Maedhros began to gather the remaining food on a tray.  “There are some things here that I think he could eat. I think we can share.  If we can find something buoyant, we can place the tray on top of it and have breakfast in the pool.”

“What about this?” asked Gildor.  He picked up a oblong bowl, carved from driftwood.  It currently held apples, which he now moved to place on the table.  “It looks like a little boat.”

“That might work.  If not, well, I guess the oysters will get our breakfast.”  They returned outdoors with their meal, and found that Asfaloth had indeed decided to take a break in the pool.  “How is the water?” asked Maedhros.

“Wet,” answered the horse.  He almost splashed the pair, but held back when he saw what they brought with them.  “Lovely! You brought me breakfast to make up for all of the nudity I was forced to endure!”  He knocked his knuckles together.

“Why do you keep doing that?” wondered Gildor as he carefully entered the pool first with the boat bowl.

“What, this?”  Asfaloth made two fists again and tapped his knuckles together.

“Yes.  Why not just clap?” asked Gildor.

Asfaloth gave Gildor a look as if he was mad.  “Because fingers are weird. They are like little tentacles, hanging off one’s hooves.”  He demonstrated, then immediately shoved his hands under the water with a gagging noise. “And what is up with thumbs?  Why are they so nubbly and antisocial?”

Gildor stared at the horse in mild disbelief. “That is not what you say when these flexible digits are able to make your mane and tail so pretty with braiding,” he countered. “With all respect to your beauty and speed, hands are rather more useful than hooves.”

Tentatively, Asfaloth lifted them from the water and wrinkled his nose.  “They still look like baby sausages jutting awkwardly off of a perfectly good soft-hoof.”

“The more I hear you speak, the more I think you and Fingon have so much in common,” voiced Maedhros as he joined them in the water.  Any question Asfaloth might have had in what Maedhros meant was forgotten as the food was spread out on the large wooden bowl, which Asfaloth applauded as a floating trough.  

Casual banter during the meal covered a variety of inane topics, from flowers to horse racing and what color the barn should be painted that autumn.  “Oh, but you are not going to be here for that,” Asfaloth said sadly.

Gildor and Maedhros exchanged a look.  “There is a chance we might be,” said Maedhros.

“At least, there is a good possibility we will not be heading back to the mainland as soon as we expected.”   Gildor sighed. “At least, after…” Now Gildor’s voice wavered a little.

“After what?” Asfaloth asked, frowning.

Looking down, Gildor hesitated. “Asfaloth, I am going to quit the drugs. I already have. It will not be too much longer until...I think you know.”

“And me the booze,” Maedhros added. “We want to be the best we can. We want to be able to support Erestor. We talked about this last night, and...it is time.”

“Oh!  And this would make you stay?”  Asfaloth pounded his knuckles together, splashing a little water.  “Can I do anything to help?”

“We will probably both become vomiting, irritable jerks. Sick, for a time. Maybe a healer would know how better to do this but I did not study that part, and neither of us want to leave the house now because of the others. I just told Erestor I would help him and I mean to keep my word, however much a mess I become. Maybe if I seem like I need fresh air or a distraction, help give me one.”

Asfaloth nodded solemnly and offered, “I will be the one to put flowers in your hair for a while.  I am good for distractions. I ran away from all the nazgul once so that Glorfindel and Elrond could send the Bruinen at them -- whoosh!”  He demonstrated with his hands in the water, and then looked at Maedhros. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Maybe keep Fingon from killing me when he finds out what messes we are,” Maedhros smiled. “This is all very hard on him, you know. Us, here, his routines, the things that are being discussed. I am trying but I know that my trying might add up to failing once I feel awful.”

“I can try,” said Asfaloth.  His huge ears drooped. “I do not think Fingon likes me very much.”

“I know the feeling,” Maedhros told him sympathetically. “He does not quite know what to do with either of us, for we remind him of things he would rather not consider.”

“What? How so?” the horse queried.

“I remind him of the bitter failures of his past. You remind him that Glorfindel had a very long life of which he was no part. However silly it seems, that is how Fingon is. He struggles more than all of us. Even more than Erestor. And he hides it with more skill, until stress causes his mask to fall. I pity him, though I would never tell him that. No, pity is not the right word. I still love him, and wish he could find a way past his torments. But I do not know how to guide him.”

Gildor reflected on his words, and kept his silence.

  
  
  


####  Afternoon Day Seven

  
  


Gildor had a book from the house library in his hands, and sat quietly on the sofa pretending to read it. Maedhros and Glorfindel decided to take advantage of the fine mild weather to harvest the day’s vegetables, and Fingon busied himself in the kitchen. His melodious voice could be heard tunefully humming as he organized his food preservation projects. Erestor, who knew this was Fingon’s time for enjoyable solitude, left him to his own devices. That, and the tempting pile of borrowed books on Vanyarin culture from the library still waited. Seeing that Gildor appeared occupied, Erestor soon lost himself in the pages of text. Time passed pleasantly, and only the occasional clink of kitchen implements or the sound of a chopping blade punctuated the still room, until a noise issued that did not belong to the kitchen. A soft moan caught Erestor’s attention, causing him to look up. 

Gildor still held the book, but did not look at it. In fact, his legs were tucked up underneath him, and he seemed to be clutching at a blanket, ineffectually trying to cover himself with a hand that visibly shook. Erestor watched a moment longer to be certain he was not imagining what he saw. “Gildor?” he asked, concerned. The ellon did not move, except that his head drooped a little more. “Are you alright?” Erestor moved to sit next to him. “What is wrong?”

A crooked smile briefly appeared on Gildor’s face. “I would have thought you of all people would recognize this, Erri. You can enjoy the theater. ‘Gildor finally suffers what he wrought on you.’ Poetic justice, no?”

Carefully, Erestor laid a hand on Gildor’s arm and felt the trembling of his body. “You stopped taking the coca?” Gildor nodded.  “Why?”

The answer was long in coming. “For both our sakes.”

“I am so sorry,” Erestor told him. “I--”

“No, Erri. I did this to you, and worse. Fingon was right, in all that he said. I do not want this any longer. I am frightened and I feel awful and I know worse is to come, but I have to try.” Tears formed in Gildor’s eyes, and streaked down his face. “Shit,” he murmured unhappily. “Here we go. Crying like a fucking child because I cannot handle my own thoughts.  I will just apologize now for...me.”

“I want to take care of you,” Erestor blurted out, eyes filled with compassion. “Please let me, Gildor. Please.”

“After all the shit I pulled on you? That is the last thing I deserve.”

“I do not care what you think you deserve!” Erestor answered more forcefully than he meant to, before lowering his voice. “I want to do this. Help you like they helped me. I know how awful this is, how hard. Can I not do something good for another person and not need a reason?” His chin trembled. 

Gildor looked away, and did not answer.

“Fuck that,” Erestor growled, and wrapped his arms around Gildor, pulling him into his embrace. The blanket was tucked carefully around his unresisting body until Erestor felt satisfied. He did not expect what happened next. Gildor wept.

“Sorry,” came through the tears. “Erri I am sorry. Help me,” he cried pitifully, now clinging to Erestor.

“Shhhh.” Erestor rocked him gently, rubbing his back. “I promise you that you will not be alone for a minute until this is over. I will be here every second Maedhros is not. It will be well in the end. You are stronger than I ever was, Gildor. If I could make it through, so can you.”

“Did not know it... felt... this bad,” Gildor said with hitched words. 

“It does, sweetheart. I am so sorry. That is why I will not let you go.” Erestor held the shaking body until Maedhros and Glorfindel returned. 

Maedhros held a question in his eyes, to which Erestor nodded in answer. “Thank you,” Maedhros told Erestor gratefully with complete sincerity. He stopped by to stroke Gildor’s head and murmur assurances, kissing the crown. For a moment he did not move, seeming to be weighing a decision. Then he left the room. 

Glorfindel hurried over to the place Maedhros vacated. “What is the matter with him?”

A fresh sob came from Gildor at the question, as he buried his pale head into Erestor’s chest.

“He stopped taking the coca,” Erestor explained quietly. “This is the beginning of withdrawal.”

“But you were not like this?” Glorfindel half-stated half-asked. “I mean, I remember you struggling with feeling tired and moody but…” he trailed off, simply never having seen Gildor like this. Ever. And that was before he noticed his body shaking. 

“It is different for everyone,” Erestor explained slowly. “Fin, I hid as much of this from you and Káno as I could. I was deeply ashamed of what my problem had done to us, and did not want especially you to know what was really going on. This did happen to me, just not as severe, and those were the times I gave some excuse so you both would just leave me alone in bed, thinking I needed sleep. Gildor used much more of the drug than I did, and for far longer. He has just been cut off from something that kept him feeling almost constantly fabulous and euphoric for I do not even know how long. I can only imagine--” He caught himself.  _ I can only imagine how much he will suffer. Fin, I am going to take care of him. I only pray that you and Káno will allow it. I feel like this is something I have to do, though it is hard to explain. _

_ You do not need to explain, and of course I will allow it--Erestor, such requests should be but statements.  You should never feel that something like this, that you showing compassion, would need permission from me--or from Káno.  Gildor is going to to need all of us. I love him still. Even if I did not, I would not leave any feeling creature to endure something like this alone. I mean, not alone, of course he has Maedhros. But Maedhros should not shoulder this by himself. Not when we can help. _

_ Thank you, love. Now to hope for the same response from Káno. After what was said yesterday… _

_ You might not have to worry about that,  _ Glorfindel said, his face now thoughtful.

_ Oh?  _

_ Well, Maedhros is in there talking to him, and I can hear all of it. I think Káno is being told some things he needs to hear. I am starting to like Maedhros more and more. _

A snort escaped Erestor. “Gildor is going to need plenty of fluids. We should be treating him for nausea before it can get going. If we are lucky, he might not have that. He is also going to be hungry, at some point.”

Glorfindel pondered the combination of hunger and nausea and immediately felt further pity for Gildor. “I will make tea. But...can it wait until they are done in there?”

Erestor nodded. “Help me. Rub his legs. He cannot control the shaking, and it will make him very sore. The more we can massage him, the less miserable he will feel. We might want to get him into the pool outside, at some point.”

Obligingly, Glorfindel sat and arranged Gildor’s legs over his lap, and kneaded the involuntarily tensing muscles gently.

“Fucking figures,” Gildor said brokenly. “F-finally have the two of you with your hands all over me and right now I do not think I could get h-hard if all our lives depended on it. So d-deeply unfair.”

“I know, sweetie. Yet, we will manage together.” Glorfindel could not help but smile as he said it.

Erestor caught Glorfindel’s gaze and gave him a look of pure love and adoration.

**

A few minutes earlier, the substantial form of Maedhros occupied the doorway, trying to fathom how to proceed. A creeping awareness already rested upon him that he, too, was about to enter his own set of difficulties; now it was going on a full day without any alcohol. Already it seemed more difficult to think, but his concern had nothing to do with himself. Love for Gildor had him in this doorway, and love for Gildor drove him on to find some way to begin. Fingon studiously ignored him, still wanting to forget that most of the early morning hours ever happened .  _ Not precisely the ideal place from which to commence negotiations _ , Maedhros wryly thought to himself. The longer he stood in place, the more it became apparent that ‘negotiation’ would not at all be the correct choice of word.

“Well Russandol, what part of my anatomy is fascinating you this morning?” Fingon asked sourly, thoroughly peeved by his obvious presence in the doorway. “Are you hoping I will drop my trousers so you can compare our ballsacks? Or perhaps we are moving along to, I do not know, asshole puckers. You tell me.”

Maedhros started at him, open-mouthed and paling slightly. Somehow he had completely forgotten about that already.  His desire for drink had certainly blocked out many other recent events. “Fingon, I…” his words trailed off, lost in the morass of conflicting thoughts.

Fingon’s jaw was set, his ire rising. “You what? What do you want this time? That was always the problem with you, could you ever leave fucking well enough alone?!” 

A desperation washed over the redhead that reminded him of some of the lowest moments of his first life. Moving nearer to Fingon, he dropped to his knees, palms facing upward. “Please...I apologize for my behavior.” He shook his head, almost in disbelief that tears were pooling in his eyes. It was one of the things his father had been adamant about--tears showed weakness.  Perhaps weakness was what he needed to express. “I apologize for everything I have ever done to hurt you. I want it to be different, Fin. I will do most anything to make it different. I am sorry.”

Inside of himself, Fingon felt deeply shocked at this display, but this ran afoul of his anger and extreme irritation. “Is this some sort of game?  Wait until you have me an emotional mess, and then laugh about it?” he said acidly, stepping around the kneeling figure to retrieve a clean tray of glazed ceramic crocks.  When he looked over his shoulder, he saw Maedhros had his head bowed and was shaking it. Fingon frowned. “Who are you and what have you done with Maitimo?”

“I am a man who would do anything to help his mate, including beg if that is what you require. Is that what you want? Do you want to hit me? Will that make you feel better? Do it, if that is what it takes.”

More anger flashed through Fingon as his worst instincts surfaced. Slamming the tray onto the table and stepping forward, he did just that. A solid, open-handed slap was delivered to Maedhros’ face with all his strength--enough to knock him forcefully into the cabinetry, against which the ellon crumpled with a whimper. For some moments Maedhros supported his upper body on his elbows, red hair sprawled and swirled on the floor nearby while he reeled from the blow.

“Does this mean I can talk to you now?” the redhead asked softly after the initial sharp pain passed, slowly righting himself. A thin trickle of blood ran down his brow where the cabinet hardware had cut him, and the beginnings of a purpling bruise formed.

Fingon’s mouth opened, then closed, his eyes wide. “I did not mean to--” he whispered, kneeling down. 

“Yes, you did.” Maedhros’ words were mild and held no censure. “I do not mind. I have so often failed to understand you, or meet your needs. I only hope it is not too late to try to do better.”

“I cannot be like this,” Fingon said, worriedly retrieving a damp cloth to blot at the cut. “I cannot behave like this. What the fuck is the matter with me?”

“Me,” Maedhros answered. “Fin, when I asked you about whether it was my...my penis...the question was not to put a knife into your difficulties. We have so many unresolved conflicts, bickerings and disagreements that felt hurtful to both of us and yet were never discussed. At no point back then did we honestly listen to each other’s needs and views, and try to reflect on each other as whole individuals. I take the blame for most of that, because I was an inflexible asshole rather determined to have it all my way in many regards. I was older than you, too, an adult for years while you were a curious child following me around, and later when we were adults, I had more experience with life.  I could have done things differently, but can you not see it? You had me wrapped around your finger. You were so intelligent even though we had a gap in our ages, we could hold long conversations of interest. And you were so sensual. I really thought I just had to be patient with you, but maybe... it could have been different. It could have been more with less. Though we are no longer interested in each other as sexual partners, I deeply hope that we could work to still rebuild a relationship. I will not deny that I loved you. I still love you. I just--” Pooled tears rolled down Maedhros’ cheeks, that he reached to wipe away with his stump.

Deep shame overcame Fingon, who bowed his head and swallowed hard. “I am a fucking piece of shit. I could rattle off all my excuses but right now I think speaking them would make me vomit. Right now I feel like the next thing to worthless. I--”

“Fin, stop.” Maedhros took one of his hands, lowering himself to kiss the back of it. “I need you to listen to me. I beg you, to listen to me. I came in here not to talk about us, but to try to find a way to plead with you on behalf of Gildor and I.”

Fingon blinked. “What?”

“Gildor is sick, Fin, and probably going to become sicker. He stopped taking the drugs. Already he is in withdrawal.” Maedhros took a deep breath before continuing. “If you walked out there right now, you would see both of your husbands holding mine, trying to care for him in what appears to be a very cozy and intimate moment. I am in here to beg you to allow them to help.”

“Why them? Why not you?” Fingon blurted out, still trying to process his jumbling thoughts.

“Because I promised to try to get off the booze and…” he swallowed hard. “I am afraid Gildor and I will both be useless to each other in short order. Please let them help him! Kick me into a corner of the stable if you want and leave me on a pile of straw. I do not care about anything but Gildor.”

In a fluid motion Fingon left Maedhros on the floor, swiftly walking into the next room to view exactly what Maedhros had described. A knot formed in his throat, at the sight of especially Erestor. A faint glow seemed to radiate from a beatific face. Eyes closed, he held Gildor with empathy and concern emanating from him in a nearly physical manifestation. Glorfindel, on the other hand, fixed his gaze on Fingon.  _ I want to know your decision, because Erestor wants to do this and I do not intend to stand in his way. _

Fingon did not reply while another wave of shame engulfed him.  _ Neither will I.  _ Slowly he walked back to the kitchen, pulled out a chair and almost sat before he realized that Maedhros still knelt on the floor. “Please get up,” he said softly, extending his hand in an offer of help and holding a chair for Maedhros to sit. He freshened the damp cloth, and handed it back. “How did I get like this?” he asked. “How did I get to be a jealous narcissist who struts around without the balls to be honest with my own lovers and then when it all blows up still cannot see what matters most? Who does not even know who he is or what he wants?” Shaking his head, he raised his eyes to see the damage done to Maedhros’ face. “Forgive me for striking you. If I ever do that again I want you to give me the same back.”

Maedhros chortled. “That would not end well for us, and you know it. But if you need to hear it yes, I forgive you. I distinctly recall inviting you to strike me,so really you need not be upset.”

“It isn’t about you, it is about….me. Fucking  _ me _ . Fuck fuck Fuck Fuck FUCK. I cannot be like this! I just...cannot. What do I do? Please tell me what to do.” Fingon buried his face in his hands, mortified.

“Well, as to how you got this way? Probably the entire First Age. At least, that is the explanation I give for myself so I feel it ought to work for you, too,” Maedhros quipped, reaching out to lay a hand on Fingon’s arm. “Fin, look at me.”

With considerable reluctance Fingon complied, his expression weary and care-worn. 

“I think all of us, with the possible exception of Gildor, have been trying to cobble together a life out of the wreckage of our pasts. It was never going to be easy. We all have problems. Really big problems. That is why it cannot be like this--sniping at each other and always treating each other as though we are the enemy. No one under this roof is anyone’s enemy. I feel like we are being handed an opportunity--to build each other up, to struggle through our messes together. But first we all have to believe in our hearts that no one here intends harm to another. The question is, can you do that?” Maedhros waited patiently for an answer.

Fingon stared straight ahead. What would not leave his mind was the grace of Erestor’s face, the hard stare of Glorfindel, and the sum of what had been said to him yesterday. He tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. “I have little choice. No. That is a fucking horrible answer. I do not know if I can, but I have to. I have to find a way. Look what I have already done to them...I have to stop this and I barely know how to not make it about me. All this time I thought I was doing what I do for them, but maybe I have really been selfish all this time.  How do I not make it about me?” 

“Make it about them,” Maedhros offered, pulling Fingon toward him. “Come here.” A numb Fingon was settled into his lap. “We are none of us perfect. But our loved ones need us. I flatter myself that a certain strength exists in our side of the House of Finwë. I want to help Glorfindel and Erestor. And you, too. I hope that you would help Gildor, obnoxious ass though he can be. There is much good in him that you have not yet seen. I hope, too, that--”

His words were cut short when Fingon captured his lips. A low moan of pain and grief went with it. Maedhros understood, and yielded. A very old dance began anew, as their tongues twined. The kiss lasted a very long time before their lips parted. Their foreheads touched. “I am so lost right now,” Fingon admitted. “Out to sea without beacon or compass.”

“I am your guiding star,” Maedhros offered in return. “I will bring you to shore. Always we will have a connection, Fin. Please, let me use that for the good of all under this roof.  Try to follow me as you once did.” Fingon nodded, before giving way to tears. Maedhros held him tightly while he wept again in sadness and confusion, until his emotion was purged. Carefully Fingon pulled away, and Maedhros used the damp cloth to clean his face.

“I should go to them. We, should go to them,” Fingon said, sniffling. Maedhros followed him into the room where the others were, his heart breaking to see Gildor’s wretchedness. Erestor had not moved and almost appeared to be in a trance, but Glorfindel’s eyes tracked Fingon. Only, the expression had changed. 

“I need you to take over for me,” Glorfindel said, though it was unclear to whom he spoke.

“I will do it.” Maedhros slid into the spot Glorfindel vacated. This left Glorfindel face to face with Fingon, who looked at his husband with guilt and some fear.

In a swift motion, Glorfindel embraced Fingon, molding their bodies together. “I love you,” he told him in a voice rife with approval, before moving off to the kitchen. Maedhros smiled up at Fingon, before turning his attention to Gildor. Nodding with a crooked smile, Fingon left to follow Glorfindel. Once they were in the kitchen, Fingon swallowed hard. “I want to know what I can do to help. Then, I feel I must once again ask your pardon, Fin. If there is anything I am not fucking up, I would like to know what it is.”

“We can get to that in a minute. Heat water for tea, please? Ress says Gildor will likely have problems with feeling sick to his stomach soon, and to start treating it now. I will chop the ginger root.” Without even a glance, Glorfindel set about his task, knowing how much Fingon hurt--and sincerely believing it was necessary, at least for the moment. Once the kettle was warming, he just as suddenly maneuvered Fingon to fall back into one of the chairs, immediately straddling him. Fingon’s long arms were pinned to his sides, trapped between Glorfindel’s arms and the chair back. For many moments, the blue-green eyes studied the hazel ones. “You did not fuck up the first thing you said just now,” Glorfindel told him quietly. “But I want to ask you something. Do you really want to help? Or are you saying it because you feel it is what I or Ress wants to hear?” Feeling the passivity of the body underneath him, Glorfindel released his grip on the chair, raising his hand to tuck an errant braid back behind Fingon’s ear.

“I meant it, I--” A finger came up to silence Fingon.

“Do you mean it because you truly want to help them, or because you feel like shit for what you just did to Maedhros? And, for that matter, to Ress and I?”

“All of it,” Fingon answered miserably, casting his eyes down. “All of it. I feel like--no.” Stopping, he thought carefully for a moment. “All of this was supposed to have been about Erestor. Helping Erestor, and getting him through these awful things about his past. Somehow out of that came what a cowardly piece of shit I have been, and it all went downhill from there. I already know that you are aware of my remorse, which helps no one. I am scared, I hurt, I feel lost, I feel hopeless and I am praying to Eru that I can find the will to make it through today, much less understand how I can somehow make amends for my wrongs.” He paused, reaching hesitantly to touch Glorfindel’s arm, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. “But instead I am being a temperamental child, acting out and treating others as though my troubles are their fault. I am so incredibly disappointed with myself, and I expect everyone else is, too.”

Glorfindel listened carefully, but did not react outwardly. “And when you kissed Maedhros when the two of you were alone out here?  Was that about your disappointment?”

Fingon squeezed his eyes shut and covered his face with one hand, and shook his head. His heart raced, as fear coursed through him. “That was about being terrified, and wanting to feel comfort. Love. I still love him.”

“I know,” Glorfindel told him, cupping his cheek. “I needed to see if you would admit that to me; I am deeply worried about you.  I want you to be able to come to us when you need something, instead of feeling like you have to go to... your ex-husband, right, because that is what Maedhros is, yes?  You have not been able to admit that to yourself before, either, have you?” A great sigh escaped Glorfindel as Fingon’s breath hitched and he nodded his head, but now Glorfindel held Fingon closer. “My trust in you has been damaged, but not beyond repair. I believe in our love. I also do not forget that when you came to me and found me broken and unable to forgive myself, you treated me with bottomless kindness and patience. A part of me now is struggling with how to view that, wondering if I was being manipulated because you wanted me. Just like what Faelion did, only with greater skill and finesse. It hurts me to say this just as it hurts you to hear it. Learning that you tried to kill Maedhros not only because of a disagreement but also with a threat that if he could not be yours he would be no one’s...Káno, that is bad. Very bad. Think of how that feels for me. And yet I choose to believe you made a mistake; that you are a good and noble person who lapsed in judgement just as I once did. Just as Ress has. Understand this, though. A mistake is a mistake until it becomes a pattern of behavior. Then it is something else. Do not ever keep secrets like this again. I can tell you that the only thing worse than losing a loved one is living with that person when trust has been shattered beyond repair. I am bound to you in Eru’s name and will not leave you. I expect you to honor that covenant henceforth, whether you are commoner or king.”

“I give you my word, Fin.” Silent tears streaked down Fingon’s cheeks; he felt inches from completely breaking. “I will say the same to Eres, if you will let me up.”

“No, you will not,” Glorfindel said, though his voice was far gentler. He saw the damp towel and used it to clean Fingon’s face, which had become swollen and red from crying. “When next you speak to him in earnest, you will praise him; tell him you support his efforts toward Gildor and that you care deeply about him. You will also talk to Maedhros at some point about the rules he and Gildor have between them concerning intimacy with others, and I want you to think very seriously about whether you can find a place in your heart to agree with them. I will not force you into anything with which you truly cannot live; I made promises to you that I am sworn to keep and will do so no matter the cost to me. I know Ress will as well. You control the interactions between us and our new family because we gave you that power out of love. How you choose to exercise it lies with you. Do you understand my words, Káno?”

Nodding, Fingon now trembled in Glorfindel’s arms and gave way to more tears. 

“I believe everything will be well in the end,” Glorfindel reassured him, stroking the long braids. “I will not hold what has happened against you or seek to beat you down. You will regain my full trust in time, and my heart is yet yours. Do not grieve, though I know this has been hard. I am with you. I love you.”

The kettle shrieked the first notes of steaming water. While the tea steeped, Glorfindel returned to Fingon--who sat unmoving--and resumed his seat. While he had deemed it necessary to deliver a stinging rebuke, he now worked to soothe the pain of his discipline. He placed his lips against Fingon’s, gently and tenderly kissing the soft flesh there. Hands kneaded at the tense shoulders and caressed the skin of his neck and throat while he sent thoughts of reassurance and devotion. “I am going to take this to Gildor,” he said once enough time had elapsed. Somehow, the words broke Fingon’s reverie.

“Please let me,” Fingon asked in a shaky voice, rising to dab more cool water on his eyes.

“As you wish,” Glorfindel answered, placing the mug on a saucer and providing a spoon. “Do you remember how sometimes Ress would tremble? Gildor might need to be given this with the help of a spoon. He also told me that Gildor may become suddenly hungry.”

“On it,” Fingon said, the ghost of a smile appearing on his tired face. “Fin?” he asked softly.

“Yes, love?”

“I never want you to have a need to speak like that to me again, but know that I am grateful you did, and if you ever feel you must again, that you will not hesitate to do it. I am still scared, my head is spinning, but what will not leave my mind is that you love me enough to put me in my place. That you would stand against me when my feet have strayed from their path...Eru bless you, Fin.”

Glorfindel dipped his head in acknowledgement, an equally enigmatic smile on his face. “Our friends need us, love” he nudged gently.

“On it,” Fingon said for the second time, carefully carrying the tea out of the room. Glorfindel sat again for a moment, his mask dropping as the strain of the last day manifested itself. Several times he breathed slowly and deeply. In, out. In, out. There was more he wished to say, more he felt he needed to ask, but now was not the time.  Instead, he created a barrier for his thoughts for now, allowing himself a haven in which to sort through his feelings and come up with a plan of action for later. Right now, his concern was Gildor, and what was to come for Maedhros.

The hours of the afternoon wore along in a tedium of trying to abate Gildor’s body tremors, and seeing the beginnings of Maedhros’ incapacity. The redhead’s usual droll conversation gradually yielded to a brooding silence, until after enough worried glances from Erestor Fingon finally procured a basin. Precisely five minutes later Maedhros’ incipient nausea became uncontrollable. The vomiting began, accompanied by malaise and chills. Glorfindel and Fingon alternated between trying to warm him under blankets and doing what they could to keep him clean. In those long stretches of boredom, concern, and waiting hand and foot on their recovering friends, Glorfindel’s thoughts wove back to what Fingon had done, until ire and a sense of betrayal rose again--displacing the loving submission he usually felt toward his husband. Their lovemaking of earlier fed into a storm of whirling thoughts inside the golden head, made all the worse by his need to mask his inner turmoil from Erestor. Glorfindel also grew quieter, but not from illness. Resentment ebbed and flowed in a rising spiral, along with questioning everything that had transpired since the day Fingon’s theater had collapsed and broken his body. The complex equation resulted in a positively filthy mood, and a need to speak to someone outside this household--for it felt like no anchors were to be found within.

  
  


_ Elrond? Elrond it is Glorfindel. Gildor is with us at the house now, and Maedhros too. One quit drugs and the other quit drinking alcohol, and both are ill from the lack of their vices. We are doing our best with what little we know but...is there more? They are shaking and miserable. Maedhros vomits frequently. Gildor is overwrought. And I hope all is well with you,  _ he added as a humorously absurd conclusion.

“Darling, why are you laughing?” asked Celebrían as she set her latest knitting project down in her lap.

“Glorfindel,” said Elrond, and he set aside his pipe and folded his hands on his lap.  His eyelids drooped and Celebrían returned to her project. Reaching out with his mind across the vast expanse, which for him was an easy task, Elrond caught the tendrils of Glorfindel’s thoughts and merged with them.   _ We are well, though I wish I could say the same for you.  I wager it is Gildor who has given up the use of mood altering substances, and Maedhros who attempts yet again to give up drink.  If you wish advice, then it is this: concentrate your efforts on Gildor. His success may aid Maedhros. At the very least, it will ease your own frustration, and that of your spouses.  I can offer additional remedies if you like. What have you already tried? _

_ Sadly little; and your assumptions are correct. Teas for nausea. Gildor has some traveling pharmacy with him but says he is afraid to make the situation worse because he has never treated this before. Erestor and I have taken turns trying to massage their muscles to relieve some of the stiffness and discomfort but...we have felt largely useless except for what comfort hands can provide. _

_ Time is key, _ said Elrond.  _  Everything you are doing so far is correct.  Do watch what you put in the teas; some herbal blends that help to calm can also cause hallucinations under stressful circumstances.  There is a basic method to be followed with Gildor for the withdrawal of undesired substances that is really just common sense expressed as an acrostic: ease.  Eating, anxiety, sleep, and exercise. First, he is going to be hungry, because the drugs he took were appetite suppressants. He rarely ate very much, and he is going to find he has cravings now.  These should be addressed, but you must consider healthy eating habits. If he wants an entire chocolate cake, for example, serve him a slice along with something healthy, an apple perhaps. Small meals several times a day are better than few large meals, else he is apt to get sick. _

_ His stress levels should be kept low if possible, because he will already feel anxiety over what is happening to him and whether he can make it through this.  Sleep will help some of that, but do not be surprised if he awakens to nightmares for the next month or more. He has been using these drugs a very long time. He will be jittery and irritable and sometimes I suspect he will weep uncontrollably without cause.  This is all normal, and it takes time to work through these emotions. Finally, exercise. The body naturally releases things that make us feel good when we move around and do things. Encourage him to take short walks or play a game where he is on his feet, even if it is only for a brief time.  Fifteen minutes of activity, three times per day or more, will do wonders for him. _

_ I will do my best, Elrond. Thank you. And...while I want to make a better job of it than this in person, I am overdue to thank you for your care of me. I was very lost for a long time, and feel I am doing much better now. I owe you a great debt of gratitude. _

_ It was my pleasure to do so, Glorfindel.  Much did you do for my family and I, and I shall be forever grateful for you.  There are times that-- _

“Glorfindel?”  

The very tentative voice disrupted Glorfindel’s concentration.  He almost cursed when he saw who was there, but held in his emotional output.  “Yes, Fingon?”

Fingon breathed in deeply and let it out slow.  “I apologize, but it is already mid-afternoon. Between waking up late and helping to take care of our guests--”

“And fighting with our guests, and making excuses, yes, what do you need to do?”  Glorfindel’s voice had an edge it did not normally have. “What is it?” he prodded when Fingon took a step back.

“Glorfindel, I need to get to work.  I cannot expect my staff to cover for me, and I did not get a message to the courier in time as it stands.  I will be home as soon as--”

“Just go,” said Glorfindel as he came to retrieve the tray that Fingon gripped in his hands.  

“Glorfindel, if I could--”

“But you choose not to.”  Glorfindel set the tray down on the counter much harder than intended, and two jars of spices fell over.  “We will see you this evening. Thank you for letting me know instead of simply running off.”

Fingon was about to turn around, but he turned back.  “Most of our income I provide. If I do not go, I cannot collect my wages.  I took a few days off as it is. This is not Rivendell, where someone just gives me time for holidays.  If I am not there, I do not earn money.”

“I am extremely aware of how economics works, Fingon,” shot back Glorfindel.  “One day in the grand scheme of things will not make or break us. Your choice is made; go to work.”

Fingon’s fists were balled in frustration, but he said no more on this topic.  Instead, he said, “Gildor wanted to know if we had any bread and honey. I told him--”

“I will look.  Go to your library,” insisted Glorfindel, and he even came to the door and held it open.

Defeated, Fingon quietly left the house shaking his head.

Glorfindel quickly found two kinds of bread and the pot of honey, and gathered these upon the tray to take to Gildor.  Once he had refreshed water and tea and sat with Gildor and Maedhros a while so that Erestor could have a break, he returned to the kitchen in an attempt to resume his conversation.   _ Elrond?  Are you still there? _

Once again, Elrond eased the pipe from his lips.  “Celebrían, we may need to take an unexpected journey to Tol Eressëa.  I fear not all is well in the Cottage of Lost Play.” The pipe was set aside, and Elrond relaxed and reconnected.   _ I am here, Glorfindel.  It appears you are quite busy today.  How else may I assist you? _

_ Uhm...sorry about that. Sort of a lot is going on right now and I...I mean, I am writing down the things you just told me. Exercise. Calm. Emotional support. Good food--which is not going to be a problem, you cannot even fathom the vegetable garden here. We are far enough from town that wanting cake does not really equal being able to eat cake. I promise I will do my best, and so will Erestor. _

_ I know both of you will; of that I have no doubt.  You must be there for one another, all three of you, for this is a long road that Gildor and Maedhros are journeying down.  The only advice I can offer regarding Maedhros is that I will keep him in my prayers. He has the strength, but has lacked the will.  Gildor, I am certain, has the will -- he will need the rest of you to be his strength. It is important, now more than ever, to show one another love.  Love above all, for this will test all of you. _

Glorfindel hesitated in his answer out of fear and indecision. Finally he decided that truth should have priority.  _ I will not dissemble to you. Right now things are not so good between us. Erestor learned the details about having been subjected to forced conversion therapy in his younger years; Maedhros brought the clinic notes. There is so much in Erestor’s mind that was suppressed, as we knew, but it was bad.  Very, very bad. I thought Ress would be a mess, but somehow he is filled with grace and rising above the knowledge of what was done to him. Somewhere in the middle of that Maedhros told us all that Fingon was heir to the throne should Finwë wish to abdicate. Erestor was removed from the room before it could really register, but I became very angry--this was the first we knew of it! He bound us to himself knowing that he had a responsibility that could unravel all our lives and...it has only become more strained from there, as secret after secret he has kept surfaces. Fingon is having rages of temper; just last night he hit Maedhros very hard. Yes, he apologized, but not enough. I am trying my best but this is not easy. Forgive me, I did not mean to unload all this. I am trying to protect and help everyone and I doubt both my wisdom and my strength for this challenge.  _ He laughed almost sardonically.  _ When have you ever heard me say that in a houseful of men, Erestor is the one outshining all of us? I am so proud of him, but I worry, too. _

“Well, you have to tell him,” said Celebrían, who had tapped into the thoughts in her husband’s mind to know what was being discussed without hearing the exact conversation.  “I know how fond you are of Fingon, but Glorfindel deserves to know, and you have said often enough that he and Erestor are like brothers to you. It will come out later, and he will feel deceived.”

“It is fair, though I do not like that I am driving an even larger wedge between them.”  Elrond slid back into the mode of thought-speech, and connected once more with Glorfindel.   _ I mean not to further complicate your mind, but I must tell you that I know already of line of succession of the House of Finwë.  It was Ereinion who spoke to me of it; I believed you had already been informed by Fingon, else I would have counseled him to tell you, and Erestor. _

_ I already realize that everyone knew about it--and assumed we did also. It is not your fault, for who indeed could have imagined he would do this to us? What is done is done, Elrond. This cannot undo our vows. I will not leave him but--I feel betrayed, and I wonder where it ends. There is so much I am wrestling with, knowing that Erestor, too, kept secrets out of terrible fear. This might not seem so different, had...had…  _ Glorfindel found himself staring blankly at the wall, overwhelmed with all of the discussions and rationalizations and reasons and excuses that seemed to all vie for supremacy in some internal court of judgement.  _ You know what? I cannot even afford to think about this right now. I have three people looking to me for help and I cannot even have the self-indulgence to process all that I have learned and felt. This is not the time. _

_ You need to make time for it, or you will not be able to help them, because you will sacrifice yourself.  A healer must be calm, collected, and unburdened. Right now, I sense you are none of these things.  _ Elrond looked up at Celebrían and she gave a nod.   _ Do you think you can manage for the next few days?  It will take time for me to secure the house and acquire passage to you. _

_ No! You have done enough for all of us under your roof. I did not mean for you to come here. I will find a way to get by, I--  _ The sob erupted out of nowhere. Just enough presence of mind existed that he dashed for a more remote place inside the house, so as not to be overheard while the emotion he could not control poured out of him. When at last he had regained some control, he asked meekly,  _ Are you still there? If you are, I am very sorry. I am being prideful and ridiculous and...I am sorry. _

_ I am still here, but Celebrían has already begun to pack our bags.  I want you to do something for me, Glorfindel. I want you to close your eyes and wrap your arms around yourself and pretend that is me giving you a hug, because that is what I am going to do the next time we speak face to face.  You may think I have done enough, but we are family, Glorfindel, and we will always be family. You protected my children and you treated my family as kin. This I do for you gladly. I have always said that there is a place for you in my home, but sometimes I need to bring my home to you. _

Glorfindel sniffled.  _ Thank you, and bless you for this. I...I will prepare a room. Do you need me to send Asfaloth for you? He came back to me and though Fingon does not much seem to care for him I have been overjoyed. Oh, and he sometimes takes on elven form. Sort of. You kind of have to see it and he is a bit of a handful but also has been a great help and comfort. _

_ I look forward to seeing him, but I think we can find the way.  It may be several days until we are able to get to you, and no reason for him to sit at the docks when he could help and comfort you as you said.  I want you to remember to give yourself that hug and I will be there before long. _

_ Thank you,  _ Glorfindel told him, meaning every word.  _ I promise I will do as you ask. We shall see you soon.  _ He broke the connection, feeling that he needed to before a fresh wave of emotion could occur. For many minutes, he closed his eyes and hugged himself, as he had been asked. A solid attempt was made to meditate on the blessings of Eru. Their friends, their love. Bad times had happened before, and this was just going to be one of those. In brief prayer he whispered to Eru:  _ Please guide me.  _ Then he washed his face, took several deep breaths, and returned to the others hoping no one was the wiser.

  
  


####  Evening Day Seven

  
  


It was late when Fingon returned to find Maedhros and Erestor engaged in a game of chess while Glorfindel was sitting on the couch holding Gildor, who was still shaking.  Fingon wanted to ask why Maedhros would not be the one comforting Gildor, until Maedhros suddenly turned away from the game board, grabbed for the bucket beside him, and noisily vomited.

”Good evening,” offered Fingon.  He received varying acknowledgements from those in the room, who were obviously all tired.  The room itself was a mess, with blankets strewn on furniture, books discarded on the floor, and remnants of food everywhere.  Without prompting, Fingon began to clean up around the occupants of the room. “Would anyone like anything from the kitchen?” he asked.

Glorfindel seemed determined to pretend he had not heard, but Erestor said, “Perhaps a fresh pot of tea, if you do not mind, and something light to eat.”

“I do not know why, but I really want rabbit right now,” voiced Gildor. 

“It is a craving,” Glorfindel said with authority.  “These will happen as he clears the drugs from his system.”  He looked with challenging eyes at Fingon.

“I can make food for everyone.  I think I can manage the rabbit, too,” he said on his way to the kitchen.

“Is everything alright, Fin?” Erestor asked in innocence, uncertain about the hard edge to his husband’s voice.

“Yes. Sorry, love. I am just tired, and worried for everyone. I will do better.” Glorfindel moved over to kiss Erestor’s cheek. “Probably I should see if Káno needs help, if everything here is under control for the moment?”

Maedhros retched again as Glorfindel winced.  Gildor worriedly dragged himself from the couch and came to lean against the back of the chair Maedhros sat in.  He crouched down and hugged his husband gently, waiting for the contractions to be over. Once they were, Glorfindel eased Gildor back to standing again and helped him to the couch once more.  He tucked another blanket around Gildor, who was shivering more than he had been before.

Stopping next at Maedhros, Glorfindel knelt down to offer a wrung-out cloth to help keep Maedhros clean, as well as a little water to rinse his mouth. Gildor shot him a very grateful look when Glorfindel paused behind the chair to rub Maedhros’ back for a brief time before he replaced the soiled basin with a fresh one and went to toss the mess somewhere in the great outdoors where it could bother no one. Finally he made his way to the kitchen. “Can I offer any help?” Glorfindel asked Fingon woodenly. Already he had made the determination to say nothing of his conversation with Elrond.

It was an anxious look he received from Fingon, in whose hands was a freshly killed rabbit.  His bow and quiver were leaning nearby against the wall. “No, thank you,” he said softly as he cast his gaze downward.  He resumed his task and began to skin the rabbit in the practiced manner he had learned ages ago. “I thought that tonight I could take the watch on them down here while you and Erestor sleep.  You need rest.”

Glorfindel looked up, weighing the comment, and what was to be gained by acceptance or rejection. “Before I answer, are you going in to work tomorrow?”

“That is my intention,” said Fingon carefully as he flipped the coney over and split it open in order to remove the still warm innards.

Glorfindel watched the preparation of the food dispassionately, and nodded. “Alright. If you change your mind about needing help I will be with the others.” His voice was kept as level as possible. Turning, he exited the kitchen. 

Within the hour, Fingon pushed the trolley into the sitting room.  There was indeed tea, as well as small sandwiches and a fruit salad, and boneless buttermilk fried rabbit, which he presented to Gildor.  “I have a rabbit and carrot stew out there that can simmer until tomorrow and be ready for lunch.”

“Mae Mae! Look at the nice...nevermind, do not look at the nice food. But it is such nice food!  Take my word for it. Thank you, so much!” Gildor’s hands shook with agitation he could not control, causing Glorfindel to hold his wrist to help steady his hand.

“Mae, do you think you can eat anything at all?” Glorfindel asked. 

A vigorous shake of the head came swiftly in answer to the question.  “Maybe tea,” came through gritted teeth. Out of self-preservation, Maedhros wriggled away from the smell of the food, which to him was intolerable. Glorfindel saw. 

“Here, Gildor, we can feed you over here.” Glorfindel coaxed him to move to a different location in the large room.    
  
Erestor stood wearily, and went to Fingon, nuzzling him and kissing him soundly. “I missed you,” he whispered. “Such a long day. Was it alright at work?”

The reaction caught Fingon off guard, and he looked at Glorfindel the entire time he timidly answered.  “I missed you as well. Work was fine. I thought that after everyone eats, you and Glorfindel should go on up and get some rest.  I can stay down here and help until Gildor and Maedhros wish to try for bed.”

“I love you,” Erestor said gratefully, kissing him again and hugging him tightly. “I am very tired.” To emphasize, an involuntary yawn tore through him and was stifled against Fingon’s chest.

“You should rest, darling.  Cupcakes need rest, too.” Fingon kissed Erestor after another snuggle and rubbed his shoulders before he gave a gentle nudge in the direction of the stairs.  “Go on. I am sure Glorfindel will be up soon.”

Having picked on a little of the fruit so that Gildor could have all of the rabbit (which he was not certain had been enough food, and made a mental note to try to make more savory items tomorrow for a backup), Glorfindel relented. He rose, and went to Fingon. No eye contact was made but he did fold his arms around him, wishing that much could be different as he held onto the body that almost seemed to belong to a stranger. He told himself to have faith. He told himself that this was not Faelion all over again--at least, not yet. But neither of those things were easy to do. “If you become too tired, do not play the hero. Come and wake me. I will have chances to rest during the day tomorrow that you will not.” With a quick peck to the side of Fingon’s chin, he followed Erestor’s path to their bedroom.

When Glorfindel made the first contact with Fingon, he swallowed a whimper.  His body shook and he did not return the embrace, nearly pulling away when Glorfindel kissed his face.  Only after Glorfindel was on the stairs did he answer with, “I assure you that will not be necessary. Pleasant dreams, Glorfindel.”  The words were bland, practiced, and spoken as if delivered to an acquaintance. Fingon turned back to the pair in the sitting room, who looked slightly shocked at the exchange, and asked, “Can I get either of you anything?”

“Fin… maybe you should go up there,” suggested Maedhros.  “We are not so bad off that we cannot take care of ourselves.”

“Agreed,” said Gildor as he finished the last bits of rabbit.  “I cannot imagine that we are going to try to stay awake much longer.”

Fingon looked up at the ceiling, certain he heard the door close to the master bedroom, and said, “There is no sum of money great enough to convince me to go up there tonight.”  He collected up the dishes and saw to it that Gildor’s pillows were fluffed and his water glass full, then fixed a fresh cup of tea for Maedhros and elevated his legs for him. Then, as he encouraged discussion on wholly unrelated topics to keep all of their minds on something else, he tended to the rest of the room, straightening and dusting and cleaning up all of the little forgotten messes of the day.  He even carried Gildor to a different couch so that he could strip off the slightly sweaty sheets and blankets and cover it with soft, dry ones, which Gildor nestled into once moved again. All the while, he kept a watch in the direction of the doorway, hoping nothing he did disturbed his spouses, and especially not Glorfindel.

Upstairs, a very different dialogue was underway. “So tired, Fin. But I feel guilty. Káno worked all day too.”

“I know he did,” Glorfindel answered. “But you should not feel guilty. He is doing his best, as we all are.” 

“Is that what it is?” Erestor mused. “Because something feels different, only I have no name for it.”

Glorfindel, his back turned to Erestor as he pulled on his sleeping pants, bit his lip. “Maybe it will feel different in the morning, Ress. I am tired, too. Morning will come soon.”

“I know,” Erestor yawned sleepily, climbing into bed and waiting for his mate to follow. “Seems so odd. No one in the middle tonight.”

“Yes. So odd. But we have each other, love. We can…pretend we are in Rivendell again, when it was just the two of us, just for tonight.  Good night and may Irmo bless your dreams.” He gathered Erestor into his arms, feeling his body relax from the familiar warmth. Erestor smiled at the things he was told, and drifted off in a bliss of weary ignorance. Outside, the distinct screech of an owl carried through their bedroom window. It was the last sound of which Glorfindel took notice, before joining Erestor in slumber.


	8. Day Eight

####  Morning Day Eight

“Sir?  Beg your pardon, but last week when I went to the office of the Bursar to collect my wages, nothing was on account for me.”

Fingon looked up from the pile of correspondence he was sorting through.  Even though he had been in the day before, it seemed that the mountain on his desk had grown.  “You worked, though, did you not?”

“Indeed I did,” insisted Calaneith.  “I filled out my time register just as you showed me.”

Fingon scratched his head.  “You were paid before then, though, correct?  You started, when… two months ago?”

“About that,” the intern agreed.  “There has been a stipend for me every other time except now.”

With a heavy sigh, Fingon yanked open a drawer of the old wooden desk and fished out a sheet of embossed paper used for correspondence between departments at the school.  “Give me a few minutes to draft something and I will have you take it down to the Bursar so that they can investigate the matter. I signed all of the registers before I left on holiday. Everyone should have been paid.”  Calaneith bowed slightly and returned to her task as Fingon set to writing a strongly worded note.

Mid-thought in his writing, Fingon was interrupted by a patron.  Despite six interns and two other librarians, he, sitting at the most cluttered of all of the desks, was the person who was approached.  He was not even closest to the door, but somehow, this patron decided that she would approach him. “How can I help you?” he asked as professionally as possible.  

The patron, a third year student, held a sheet of blue paper with several official notations on it.  “I need help for passing the written Sindarin exam,” she said in a thick Valmarin accent. “My friend said you have the best book for it. She passed along to the next level; I did not.”

“We have an excellent collection of materials for learning Sindarin,” said Fingon.  He looked about, but none of the other employees were within earshot, so he set his quill aside and stood with the intention of helping her himself.  “I can show you where they are.”

“I know where to find them.  I need the book for test. I want the book to pass test,” she emphasized.  “Just for test.”

“Ah.  Yes. We have those, in that same section.  Right this way, please.” Fingon wove his way through the library as the student followed closely behind him.  “This section here is where we have the books that detail the exam.”

“I need the Standard Sindarin test book,” she said as she showed Fingon the paper again.  “I need the one for passing the test.”

“None of the books can really guarantee that,” Fingon explained.  “Now, everything on this shelf and from here to this book on the next shelf… and these up here… those are the ones to look at,” he suggested, pulling out a few books to create a temporary barrier between which all of the books on the topic were shelved.  

“My friend had one she said she took from here.  Which one is that?” asked the student.

Fingon blinked.  “Do you have the title?”

“No.  The one for the Standard Sindarin test,” replied the student, sounding slightly irritated.

Fingon took a deep breath.  “All of these are for that test.  Do you want one with examples, or practice, or--”

“I want the one my friend had.  You do not know what that one was?” 

Clasping his hands together so that he did not ball them into fists, Fingon said, “I am not your friend, so I do not know which one she borrowed.  Do you remember anything about it? The author, the color of the binding, anything?”

“It is for Standard Sindarin test,” said the student.

Fingon turned to the shelf and pulled one of the books from it.  “Well, this one is for the test, and it is quite popular. Perhaps she took this one out.”  He held the book out to the student.

“No,” replied the student without so much as opening the book.  “It was a big book.”

“Ah.  That helps a little.”  Fingon set the first book aside and plucked a second, larger tome from the shelf.  “Maybe it was this one?”

“No, too old,” said the student.  “She said it was new. A new book for Standard Sindarin test.”

“Well…”  Fingon skimmed the shelf and pulled out a sizable book that appeared to have been freshly bound.  “Could this be the book?” 

The student paged through the book, but rejected it as well.  “No. This has too many questions in it.”

“So you want one about the test without practice for the test in it?” Fingon asked in an attempt to understand.

“No, I need practice, but not questions.”

“You might want to try the general section on Sindarin, then.  The books for the test will have example questions or full tests,” he explained.

“No,” the student said firmly.  “My friend had book, for Standard Sindarin test, no questions, just example practice for test.  Maybe someone else would know who knows the library better.”

Fingon bristled.  “I am the head librarian,” he said a little gruffer than he intended.  “It is my duty to know all of the volumes that are contained here. There is no one else who would know more than I do.  Now, if you could find out from your friend what the title is, or even what color the book was, that can help. If it is really so good, it is probably checked out right now.”

“She cannot remember.  You do not remember helping her?”

Fingon clasped his hands together again.  “Even if I did, I do not make it business to memorize everything that everyone checks out from the library.  I would suggest you speak with your friend, or have her come here with you, to help you find the book.”

“So you do not have it?”

“We might have it--but I need more information to find it for you.  Do you understand?” asked Fingon.

The student nodded slowly, but it was debatable whether she really understood or not.  She began to pick up the books that had been left in small piles on the empty spaces of the shelves and started to haphazardly shove them back into the gaps on the shelf.  Fingon reached in and grabbed the next handful. “No need for that. I have workers who can do this. Please do come back with your friend and we will try again,” he offered as the student left.  With a little groan, Fingon left the section disheveled and made his way back to the desk.

“Is my letter ready?” asked Calaneith just as Fingon sat back down.

“Not yet.  I had to help someone.  Apparently everyone else was too busy.”  Fingon stabbed his quill back into the ink.  “The Sindarin section is a mess. You can go and tidy that up, and I should be done with this when you get back.”

This time, Fingon managed to barely finish the letter before the next interruption.  “Master Fingon, I know we said we would only need you to dedicate staff to the open house and to the recruitment weekend, but…”  The assistant to the headmaster stood before the desk with a pad of paper and a stub of writing lead.

Fingon steepled his fingers, elbows resting on the desk.  “Go on,” he prodded.

“We had two professors pull out of the conference next month, and we are very much hoping you might help us out by having some sort of demonstration or talk.  The event is only one day. Please consider it?”

Fingon squeezed his eyes shut.  As he opened them, he noticed Calaneith approaching and lifted up the sheet as she reached the desk.  Once Calaneith was gone again, Fingon said, “I make no promises. We are stretched thin from other events, and, I still have a library to run.”

“I will let the headmaster know.  He thought with all of your time off that this meant the library was in a stable state.  He had hoped for a firm decision one way or the other, but if that is the best--”

“Tell him yes,” Fingon cut in.  “I can read between the lines. I do not need him vexed with me for anything more.  Please do not share that last bit,” he added as the assistant made a note and left. Fingon now bowed his head and rubbed his face with his hands.

“Is this a bad time to ask about some supplies I need from the mainland?” asked Nasarion.  “Just a few things.”

Fingon looked up.  “We just sent for supplies before I left.  I remember asking everyone to tell me what they needed so that we were stocked.”

“No one asked me,” countered Nasarion.  “I was running low before you left.”

With a glare at the top of the desk, Fingon asked, “What do you need?”

“I need glue, hinges, boards--the usual for binding loose folios we add.”  

“Did you make a list?” asked Fingon.

“Right here.  I just need you to authorize it and I can mail it out today.”  Nasarion set the document in front of Fingon. “Would you like a quill for that?”

It was several pages long, and Fingon initially flipped through it before he waved Nasarion off with a sigh.  “This is more than a few things. Let me look it over,” he said. Nasarion hesitated, but walked back to his area as Calaneith returned with a letter from the Bursar.  “What did he say?” asked Fingon. 

“He said to give you this.”  Calaneith held out the sheet.

Fingon snatched the page away and read it.  “...all registers are due by end of day on the fifth and twentieth of the month… overdue registers are paid late… registers were received three days late--bullshit, I signed those well before I left.  Nasarion, come over here.”

Nasarion, who had only just reached his chair, bounded back over upon hearing the tone of Fingon’s voice.  “Yeeesh?”

“You took the registers down on time, right?”

“Oh… well, I forgot that it was the time to do that, because usually if you are not here, Erestor is here to remind me.  I did get them down the very next week, and the Bursar said they would be included.”

“Well they were not, because Calaneith was not paid.”

“That is strange.  The Bursar assured me it would be fine,” Nasarion said.

“This letter does not say that,” Fingon huffed.  He looked back down at it and read the second half quietly to himself.  “Uhm… huh. Wait. Yes. Alright, you are right. He says he still...well, this makes no sense.”  Fingon looked up at Calaneith. “You are sure you turned in your register?” Calaneith nodded. Fingon looked at Nasarion.  “You took all of the sheets down?”

“I just told you that I took all of the sheets down that were in the box of completed registers,” said Nasarion with an icy edge to his voice.

“I completed mine,” spoked up Calaneith.  “It was all filled out. I put it in my folder.”

Fingon turned slowly from Nasarion to Calaneith.  “Is it still in your folder?”

Calaneith stood still for a moment, and then walked back to where the folders were kept.  “Yes,” came the answer from that area. Fingon crumbled up the sheet of paper and threw it angrily at the wall.  Calaneith came back over with the sheet. “Should I take this down to them?”

“On the fifth of the month, sure,” answered Fingon.  “They are not going to pay you now for it. It is too late.”

“Oh.”

“Where were you putting your sheets prior to this last time?” asked Fingon.

“I was putting them in the place for the completed registers.”

Once more, Fingon rubbed his face.  “Then why did you leave this in your folder?”

“Because you were not going to be here, so I thought you would do it when you got back.”

“But that was why I said they needed to be in early,” Fingon ground out.  “Nasarion took them down for me.”

“Oh… yes, that makes sense.”  Calaneith nodded, but did not move from the side of the desk.  “Should I put it back in my folder?” she asked when Fingon did not say anything.

“NO!”  Fingon grabbed the sheet, looked it over, signed it with jabbing strokes, and shoved it back into Calaneith's hands.  “Put it where the finished ones go. It will be sent down next time.” Fingon waved his hand dismissively at Calaneith and Nasarion, and then returned to the piles of letters.

“Let me know when you have signed my request,” reminded Nasarion from his desk once he settled in.

With a sigh, Fingon pulled the list back over.  He read through quickly, flipping page by page. He was on page five when something made him turn back two pages.  “Nasarion, what is this?”

Nasarion bit his bottom lip, but cleared his expression when he reached Fingon’s workspace.  “Just the usual rolls of cloth and leather binding.”

“We ‘usually’ just get the low-end leather.  It is just as good as any of the other kinds from this vendor,” Fingon scolded.

“Not really.  This kind can hold up to extreme temperatures, and, the color is more consistent,” reasoned Nasarion.

“No one is going to go hiking through a snowstorm or wandering around in a heatwave with rare books,” countered Fingon.  “We are not spending six times as much for… what is this, ‘brilliant blue quality leather binding material’. No. Rewrite it with the real usual things.”  Fingon handed the papers back as Lisenna came into the library. 

“Mister Fingon, I have a problem,” announced Lisenna.  “They do not have my money in the Bursar’s office.”

“Did you put your register in the box for the completed ones?” asked Fingon.

“I put it in my folder,” said Lisenna.

Fingon shook his head.  “They need to go into the completed box.  I know this is part of the training--where is Inarata?”

As if summoned by her name, Inarata appeared.  “Yes, Master Fingon?”

“You show everyone where their registers go, right?”

“Of course!  Absolutely! Right over here!”  Inarata went to the box and patted it before she came back.  “I always tell everyone, registers must go in the box. I am not always here to help.”

“Help with what?” asked Fingon.

“I go through all of the folders to see if anyone left them behind,” explained Inarata.  “Sometimes someone forgets. I do not want anyone to be late.”

“I see,” said Fingon.  “I appreciate that, and I think everyone else appreciates that, but that is the responsibility of the individual to place it there.”

“Yes, I know,” Inarata said quickly.  “However, I am happy to help! I help when I can.”

“Inarata, you forgot mine last time,” Lisenna said.

“Oh!  I am so sorry,” Inarata apologized.

Fingon narrowed his eyes at Lisenna.  “Office. Now.” He stood up, pointed with one finger, and trailed after Lisenna.  “I do not appreciate nor tolerate the sort of behavior you exhibited just now,” warned Fingon once they were behind the closed door.  “Your register is your responsibility. You should be thanking Inarata for the times she has helped and remembered for you, not scolding her because you did not place it in the correct place.  I expect you to respect your coworkers, and to take full responsibility for your own tasks and actions in the future. If you are unable to do that, you have no place here. Dismissed.”

“Am I getting paid?”

“Not until next time,” Fingon answered incredulously.

“Oh.”  Lisenna left the office and Fingon dropped down into the chair of this out of the way temporary sanctuary.  There was much left to do, and he was resigned to the fact it would take longer than he wanted it to. For the moment, he decided to take a short break.  He looked across the small room at the desk nearby, belonging to Erestor, whom he missed more today than he usually did on days when their schedules did not coincide.  Usually by now, he and Erestor would be having a discussion during their lunch break, stealing a kiss behind the closed door, and if Fingon had packed food, he might be spreading it out on the small table against the wall--

\--which was currently housing an array of dirty dishes, abandoned treats, and an open bottle of wine.

“What. The. Fuck.”  Fingon counted to ten, but it did not stop him from shouting, “Nasarion!” when it was over.

The cataloger entered, and looked genuinely surprised to see the mess on the table.  “What happened here?”

“I have no idea.  But since it was not me, and you seem bewildered, I would suspect some of the interns--probably the new ones--think they have free rein when I am away.  I trust you will be able to find out who it is, and require they--nevermind, I am so furious, I have to clean it myself or I will just smash it all on the floor and still have to clean it myself.”  Fingon began to gather up the remnants of some sort of secret party while Nasarion retrieved a rag, for the table was sticky and covered in crumbs. All Fingon could hope was that the mess at home stayed contained so that he did not have an evening of the same ahead of him.

####  Evening Day Eight

“This is not going to work,” whispered Glorfindel. Erestor still held Gildor, plagued by body chills and agitation. Keeping him hydrated and somewhat warm was a full-time job at this point. Adding in feeding him little mouthfuls of this or that and the constant narrative of soothing words, and Erestor had hardly had time to use the loo since this morning.

“I know,” Erestor whispered back. In the interim, Maedhros’ problems had amplified far beyond restlessness and a swollen bruise on his cheek. Sweating and shaking, a basin was at hand, for he had already purged once. Erestor blotted at his face with a damp cloth and held him as he moaned in misery, offering what comfort he could. Confronted with their suffering, Erestor felt more determined than before to help them. 

“We need what we had when we first brought Fin home again,” Erestor said quietly. “The big bed. Maybe even two big beds. They need to be near each other for comfort, but each needs care. Neither can do for the other.”   _ And frankly I do not know which has it worse, Gildor or Mae. _

_ You have been through both, have you not?  _ Glorfindel asked.

_ No. Not like this. I had more trouble with the coca but...I am not fully elven,  _ he reminded Glorfindel reluctantly.  _ Whatever I endured was greatly reduced on account of that. You must understand that for me, it is that I will never not want the coca. I push it far away from my thought, but in the beginning, to set it aside--all one thinks about is the feeling it gives and the desire for that. Gildor is experiencing that as well as the travails of his body. As for the drink, that was never so much an addiction for me as it was a sad remedy for the countless trials of my life.  I used to want to forgot as much as I could, now we are trying to reclaim my memories, so it is counterproductive, as simple as that. Recovery from alcohol for me has been a far easier thing than not taking the drugs. I will always be an addict, Fin, I am just in a better place than I used to be. This is years of addiction, for both of them, and probably the second worst thing Maedhros has ever experienced.  _ What the worst thing was did not need mentioning.

“Shit,” Glorfindel muttered under his breath. “Well, I will make it work. I will move two large beds into one of the large rooms and then I am relieving you, Ress.”

“You are?” Erestor asked, confused.

“Yes, I am. You have not taken food or drink, nor cared for life’s necessities for hours now. You need some time for yourself, at least to bathe and look over your garden, if nothing else,” Glorfindel reasoned.

Erestor took a deep breath, and slowly shook his head.  “You need my help,” he said simply.

“You have been more than helpful.”  This comment came from Maedhros, who had a damp cloth over his eyes to dull his headache and block the light.  “There is a possibly that this not going to be over in a short time. This could take many days. For all we know, we could still be fighting it two weeks from now.  I am a big boy,” he tried to joke. “It is going to take a long time to piss all that alcohol out.”

Glorfindel’s tone was more serious.  “And now you have heard it from someone other than your caring husband. We are all going to take care of ourselves so that we can take care of each other. No arguing.” Glorfindel was entirely adamant, crossing his arms.

“The great warrior of Rivendell has returned to grace us with his wisdom” Erestor smiled beautifully. “I will do as you ask. There, you were not expecting that, were you?”

“Smart ass,” Glorfindel said approvingly, leaning in to quickly kiss the dark head. “I shall return. You behave.”

“I always behave,” Erestor frowned as his husband left the room.

“No comment,” Gildor answered innocently, as he absently stroked Maedhros’ hair. With a groan of misery Maedhros’ began to retch for at least the fifth time. Gildor hurriedly placed the basin in his grasp and helped to steady him. His other hand held back the long hair. Gildor winced as he felt the heavy spasms contract the abdominal muscles and heard the sounds of distress as Maedhros’ body revolted against him. Finally it was over, though only a small amount of foamy fluid had been purged. Maedhros collapsed, too weakened to even right himself.

“Mae Mae?” Gildor asked unhappily. “Mae Mae are you alright?” The anxiety in his voice mounted quickly as Gildor’s shaking arm reached for his lover.

“Fine, Gildor,” Maedhros croaked, their hands fumbling for each other and twining together. “Be so much easier if it would just let me piss it out, but my body is determined to expel it in the most vile methods it can conjure.  Love you, sweetheart. Love you. I am not sure why my head is so hazy and vision so cloudy, but it is as if I start the day over every few minutes, blind and dumb. Is Tatannen taking care of you? Else I shall have words with him.”

Erestor bit his lip to help control his emotions, for the pathos of the scene in front of him struck a very deep chord. Never before had he been on the other side of this. Had he ever really given thought to what Glorfindel experienced, to see him when he had been ill, out of his head, or near death? Not once, but multiple times?

“He has been good to me, Mae Mae,” Gildor told his mate, close to tears.  “Better than I deserve him to be, that is for damn sure.”

“Shhhhh,” Erestor soothed, feeling as though he was about to lose both of them to sorrow which would only sicken them more. “We are tending to you, and that is exactly how it will remain until you are both well.” He hoped his assertiveness would achieve...something.

“Did you hear that, Mae Mae?” Gildor laughed sardonically. “Well! I hope he knows what ‘well’ looks like, for I certainly do not!”

“I do, so do not require me to silence you, Gildor!” Erestor admonished firmly. “You need rest, and quiet. So does your husband.”

“Hungry. Starving,” Gildor complained, struggling to sit up. Erestor shot Glorfindel a look of desperation as he deposited the first bed in the room.

“I will care for all of that” Glorfindel said, transfering Maedhros to lean against Erestor, who now held his arms around both of them as if he was minding two extremely large elflings. The redhead groaned and shivered against him, whereas the blond tried to find whichever new position to ease his aching muscles made best use of Erestor as a pillow.

It was then that the door opened, and wearily Fingon entered.  He could hear an assortment of noises from the sitting room, which seemed far louder than they should on account of the splitting headache he had returned with.  His last hour had been spent reordering all of the books in the test section, for his interns had hastily done nothing more than shove the loose books into the empty spaces they could find, leaving it all out of order.  He slowed his steps and ventured to the sitting room first. “There is a bed in here,” he remarked.

“Good evening.  How was your day?  Well enough, thank you.  And you?” Glorfindel only stopped short of tapping his foot, for the hour was late, well after the usual time that Fingon would have arrived home.  It reminded him so much of the way Faelion treated the days spent wed to him--to promise to be home at a reasonable hour, only to stumble in with friends far later than expected, and dismiss Glorfindel from the room so that he and his theatre cohort could laugh and play cards in their parlour while Glorfindel sat miserably alone in their bedroom.  “Do you wish to rest -- shall I get your slippers for you?”

Fingon dropped his satchel by the side of the couch and came over to silently greet the other three occupants.  “What can I do to help?” he asked, though the question was directed towards Erestor.

“Glorfindel is moving beds in here so that no one needs to take the stairs or go elsewhere.  He was going to make food as well,” explained Erestor.

“I can make food.  Do you have any special requests, Gildor?” asked Fingon.  His only desire was a cool cloth for his head, but he was not about to be accused of worse by Glorfindel.

Gildor considered this offer and said, “I really want pie, if that is not too much trouble.”

“I think we have fresh raspberries outside.  Will that do?” asked Fingon. When Gildor nodded, he turned to Maedhros.  “Just tea?” he guessed.

“Tea and rum, heavy on the rum.”  Maedhros waited until at least some of the occupants of the room gasped, and then smirked.  “Just tea,” he said, words slurring slightly. “I will dream about the rum.”

Fingon gave Maedhros an affectionate kiss on the brow and moved to Erestor.  “What can I make for you tonight?” he asked. 

“Tea sounds lovely,” Erestor said.  “If there are still some vegetables, perhaps just some roasted roots or something?  I am not particularly fussy, just a little hungry. I am going to go out and bathe, but let me know if you need me to gather anything from the garden.”

“I think Fingon is perfectly capable of finding the garden on his own,” Glorfindel firmly said.  “You need to relax, remember?”

“Umm…”

“Glorfindel is correct,” agreed Fingon, not wanting any further arguments.  “I can get what I need myself.”

“If you are sure.  In that case, if it is not too much trouble, I would also like a fresh apple or two, if you can find any of the early ripe ones,” Erestor requested.

“Your wish is my command.”  Whether Fingon excluded Glorfindel from the conversation purposely or on accident was anyone’s guess as he picked up the satchel from the ground.

“I love you, baby,” Erestor said in purest adoration.

Fingon paused, knowing that his mate was still blissfully unaware of most all of what had transpired between himself and Glorfindel. “Thusly am I honored,” Fingon smiled, blowing him a kiss. At some point he needed to speak with Erestor, but not now. Nor anytime near to the present crisis under their roof.

If Glorfindel noticed, he pretended not to.  “I am going to get another bed, and then I will rearrange things in here.”  Erestor nodded his consent, and Glorfindel went to the next closest room which did not belong to Asfaloth to check to see that the mattress was still firm.  It was indeed, but what was more curious was that the bed appeared to have been recently slept in. Further investigation led Glorfindel to find a basket on the dresser with some discarded clothing in it which seemed to him to belong to Fingon.  He did not dwell on these findings, and instead worked to pull the mattress and then the bedframe to the sitting room. He was determined to have it all set up before the meal was served.

The shovings of furniture and occasional grunts from Glorfindel filtered to Fingon while he prepared their meal. This would be simple food, in the hopes that despite his wanting only tea Maedhros could perhaps eat a little and keep it down. Small patties of seasoned beans, chickpeas and oats coated in breadcrumbs with sauces, pickles of squash and radishes, roasted carrots and beets, and squash fritters were underway quickly. While he waited for the next flatbread to rise on the griddle, Fingon tried to reflect on the sum of what had occurred since this time yesterday--and found he could not. Then thoughts intruded concerning the state of his life one week prior versus tonight. The rapidity of the change that had come upon him brought only anxiety. Next he reflected on Erestor. Erestor who they all worried would shatter into pieces, but instead rose above all he had been told to care only about the sufferings of Gildor--in the beginnings of some strange symbiosis he could not even pretend to understand. Shaking his head violently, he banished all of it from consideration and rolled out the next flatbread.

It was as he set the final plate of food onto the cart that Glorfindel came through the door.  It startled Fingon, but he took advantage of his appearance and pushed the cart to block him from getting any closer.  “Would you mind taking this out there? I still need to go out and pick raspberries for the pie.”

Glorfindel hardly had time to open his mouth before Fingon had a basket in his hand and was out the door.  With a sigh, Glorfindel pushed the cart back the way he came.

Once outside, Fingon could tell even in the darkness that the gardens had not been tended to.  Giant cucumbers and squash poked out from their leafy dens, and the okra and beans seemed to be creating their own society.  The herbs and eggplants were threatening to become overgrown, and the lettuce was close to going to seed. He hung the basket on a hook near the grapevines, which he praised for not being anywhere near close to harvest, and procured a wheelbarrow.  He could tell from the size and color of some of the produce that he would have to haul it to one of their neighbors who kept hogs, and worked in the darkness to sort out what was there the best he could so that he was not bringing into the house that which could not be salvaged.  

All the while, he fought off the swarms of pests that found him curious or tasty, from spiderlings to mosquitos.  By the time he was finally back inside with the berries and more produce than could reasonably fit on the table (and so it was set on chairs and hung in baskets wherever he could find an empty hook), his arms and feet were covered in itchy red spots, and his hair was wildly disheveled, with wisps poking out of braids every which way.  An errant mosquito landed on his eyelash, and he batted it away, only to have it stab him in the ear in its final moments of triumph before he slapped his own face to be rid of it.

He wanted nothing more than to flop down on the couch or perhaps even the bed if he was welcomed to it, but there was still pie to be made.  Fingon hastened his way through the process, glad that he had the forethought to make the crust ahead of time. There was only occasional discussion flittering in to him from the sitting room, but it meant that someone was still awake, and could at least vouch for the fact that the pie was indeed made even if Gildor was asleep by the time it had cooled.

While the pie baked, Fingon put away the produce the best he could, taking roots to the cellar and gathering the more perishable produce in the kitchen where it could be preserved or used quickly.  In his agricultural whirlwind, he passed by the doorway that led to the greenhouse and groaned, head hung. Here he stopped next, and found cheerful tomatoes, peppers, and strawberries, all intent on being picked.  “You will have to wait until tomorrow,” he instructed the plants within, plucking only the largest of the tomatoes and peppers that looked about to break stems. “The rest of you go to sleep, and stop growing until I get back,” he gently scolded them.  

When the pie was done, and cooled, Fingon set it on a tray with plates and forks enough for four.  Only now did it occur to him that he had gone the entire day without food. He considered a fifth plate, but put it back into the cabinet and carried the tray to the sitting room.

Everyone was asleep, he realized, as he looked around the room.  There were two beds, pushed together. Maedhros held a still shivering Gildor on one, with two buckets beside the bed.  Upon further inspection, Fingon found that one held the residue of vomit, while the other was being used to piss in. He carefully set the tray on the high counter and began work on cleaning up the room, gathering all of the trash and taking the buckets outside, where he encountered more mosquitos intent on avenging their fallen brethren.  The buckets were put back in place, and Fingon went to the bathroom to tend to it as well, finding it in a state of disarray, and cold, used bathwater in the tub. All of this was cleaned up, and the tub scrubbed for future use, until Fingon’s arms were so weary and numb that he could no longer feel the stinging and itching of the bites he had incurred earlier.  

He had just enough sense to wash his hands and face before he stripped off his clothing and carried it with him through the sitting room and the great room, down the hallway until he reached the room he had taken up residence in the night before.  His body shook in slight distress as he saw the imprints on the floor where the bed once had been, and realized that it now must be in the sitting room. Too tired to even cry over it, Fingon kicked the musty blankets he had taken off the bed yesterday into a pile in the corner and sank down upon it, hardly able to bunch them up on one side to use as a pillow before he fell asleep.


	9. Day Nine

****

####  Day Nine Early Morning

Glorfindel woke early, which was just as well. Reflections on Elrond’s words caused assorted internal suggestions about how to care for himself to flit through his mind, and yet none of them seemed appealing. Then he remembered how he used to practice with his swords so long ago. Those were no longer in his possession, but perhaps they were not really necessary? A pair of fallen branches might do.  Stars were still out, so he extricated himself carefully from Erestor, frowning once he realized that yet again, the two of them had slept alone. He checked briefly on Maedhros and Gildor, and thankfully found them at rest. Padding stealthily, he returned to the room he suspected had been used last night, to see Fingon sleeping alone, only he was tucked in a corner on a pile of linens now that the bed was gone. “Nice to know you are not even going to try,” he said softly. “At least I am used to that. I thought you would be different. I believed you would be different. Maybe I was right, and I am just a magnet for anyone who has ever wanted someone to use.” He paused. “No. I refuse to go on believing that. Which still leaves me with no understanding of what it is I am doing wrong. Well, if this is your choice I cannot stop you. It was nice while it lasted, I guess.” Shaking his head somewhere between disgust and sadness, he left to go outside.

His arms stretched heavenward to Varda’s firmament, and peace seemed to settle over him as he took deep breaths. “Could you help me to understand?” he asked everyone and no one. “I remember the day I cried out that all I wanted was to be loved. Why do I take up with those who deceive me and then abandon me? Is it something about me? Was it what father did? Have I sinned, that such as this keeps happening?” 

Now he moved forward in slow lunges, stretching stiff legs and feeling the power that still lingered in his muscles. The motion alone felt overwhelmingly good, and he grunted with pleasure at the sensation, continuing the sinuous motions of his ancient routine. “That does not feel right,” his monologue continued. “That this is a punishment. Asfaloth returned to me, and I do not believe that would have happened if I still was enduring a penance.”

The clattery sound of knuckles knocking together disturbed his mutterings. “Maybe it is not about you?” Asfaloth offered, appearing almost wraithlike under the starlight. He glowed, softly, and the sight of his beauty gave Glorfindel pause.

“You mean I am being egotistical and that his behavior has little to do with me?” Glorfindel smirked before closing the distance between them and opening his arms to hug his horse. Asfaloth returned the affection, nestling Glorfindel’s head into the crook of his neck exactly as he did in his usual form.   
  
“Something like that. I know why you are feeling this way, so hurt and angry, so I have a question for you. Do you truly believe that Fingon is really just another Faelion?”

Glorfindel did not answer right away, but the tension in his body mounted. “That is just it, old friend. I do not know. I mean, I so badly want to believe he is not, but that did not change when it was Faelion. I truly thought he loved me. Faelion, I mean. And then later when I was being deceived and put down and...alright, no one here is raping me on a nightly basis which is why I feel terrible and guilty for the comparison, but...I do not trust myself any longer, Asfaloth. I do not know if you can understand that after so many blunders with trusting the wrong people that my ability to discern anything like this...what ability?” Helplessly he looked into the horse’s oddly shaped eyes, something that remained constant when he shifted physical form.

“So are you more angry with Káno, or are you...how is it that you really feel? Because I overheard some of the things you have been saying to him and...ouch, Fin. Pretty harsh.”

“I know it. I just…” Struggling to calm himself he tried to consider his true feelings. “Alright. If I am going to be brutally honest, I am terrified. Terrified that it is happening all over again for me and that he will abandon us and then while it will go on well enough for awhile, Erestor and I will fall apart again as well. We had over three thousand years to try to make it work with us and while yes he is changing...Ress is not out of the woods yet. For that matter probably neither am I. What do I do?”

The horse held onto him, and kept Glorfindel’s eyes gazing skyward to see the approaching dawn. “I cannot fully answer that but I know that heaping spite on your husband is probably not going to prove helpful. I think you are saying those things to insulate yourself against what you fear is going to happen. There are two types of liars--the ones who twist things and say untruths and do so with personal pleasure, and those who omit the truth or say what they think others want or need to hear because they themselves are scared or care more about others over their own needs and desires, or they do it because they think they are protecting those they care for.”

Glorfindel thought for a moment. “Probably true. And you mean to convince me that Faelion is the former and Fingon the latter.”  Glorfindel felt Asfaloth nod against him. “That may be true, but I am still angry,” the blond told him.

“Anger turns outward, fear turns inward,” the horse said simply. “And if I may, this is way too deep for me. I am a horse. I am supposed to be thinking about things like what plant to dump on next and what pretty mare will come my way. Oh, and running. Running is always good, and by the way, where is my carrot? I know you are busy with them inside, but I really feel like a good carrot could help make everything better.”

“I never know if you are serious,” Glorfindel sighed, walking to the carrot row to look for something that seemed nicely overgrown.   
  
“If it is about carrots, sugar, or apples I am always serious. In deadly earnest. I want your carrot in my mouth, as soon as possible.”

Glorfindel burst out laughing.

“Wait, you know perfectly well I did not mean it that way,” Asfaloth scolded, though the blush on his cheeks betrayed his chagrin.  “You are all a bunch of children, the whole lot of you, you know that?”

By now Glorfindel had a nice specimen dangling by its top. “Here you go, my carrot, complete with greenery just the way you like it,” he teased.

“Hmpf,” Asfaloth returned, though he bit off an extremely large mouthful and began chewing it.

The sound of the door opening came to both of their ears.  Asfaloth with his carrot still in his mouth pranced rather quietly through the damp grass to peer around the side of the cottage, while Glorfindel did the same a moment later.  “It appears Fingon has somewhere to be,” said Asfaloth somewhat sadly.

Glorfindel frowned as he watched Fingon retreat down the path, and cross the road, disappearing into the field yonder.  “That is not the way to the library,” he mused once the tall figure left their sight.

“That was where he went riding the other day,” remarked Asfaloth.  He frantically knocked his knuckles together. “You do not think he is running away, do you?”

Panic erupted through Glorfindel’s body, and he swallowed down his fears.  “One way to find out,” he said authoritatively. “We shall follow him.” He turned to see Asfaloth, carrot still dangling from his mouth, now in full equine form, with bells on.  “A little more stealthily,” suggested Glorfindel. Asfaloth shook off the collar of bells. “Maybe on foot. In your other form, so that he does not see us,” said Glorfindel.

“Bells or no bells?” asked Asfaloth.

“No bells.  Finish your carrot,” Glorfindel added.

It was easy enough to find the path that Fingon took, for the grass and weeds were tall, and Fingon had pushed them down to make his way through.  They were a bit trampled as well, which meant this was not the first time that Fingon had taken this route. Now and then, rustling noises caused them both to duck down or hide behind the safety of a tree, only to see a deer or a rabbit pass by a moment later.  A clearing was ahead, and they stayed back to watch Fingon, who was waist deep in the water, scrubbing and shivering at the same time.

“Why is he bathing here when we have a perfectly good pool behind the house?” whispered Glorfindel to Asfaloth.  

“That water is very cold,” said Asfaloth from experience.  “Nice for drinking. Bad for splashing around.”

The rest of the time was spent in silence as the pair watched Fingon finish his bath.  A cake of soap was rolled up inside the pants he had worn the day before, and he used yesterday’s shirt to dry off.  This clothing was tightly rolled up and stuck into a cloth bag, which was in turn placed into the leather satchel Fingon often carried with him to work.  From the satchel he now brought out a fresh set of clothing, and put this on before he slung the bag over his shoulder and began his journey anew, to a dirt path that would lead up to the main road, which he would presumably take to reach work.

Asfaloth placed his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder and said to him, “You need to talk to him.”

“But what do I say?” replied Glorfindel.

****  
  


####  Morning of Day 9 

****  
  


Having lain abed for more than two days, Gildor found that his tremors and restlessness had morphed into something akin to an obsessive frenzy. In the morning when he could no longer keep still, Erestor had insisted they go walking outdoors. During much of that outing, Gildor had felt compelled to demonstrate to his new close friend that he could converse whilst skipping backwards. “Erri, this feels better. I mean sure I am wound up like a top and I feel like I could swim to the mainland and back, but this feels more real. As in, I feel more alive somehow.”

“I think so much nervous energy is still part of the withdrawal,” Erestor noted, amused and occasionally reaching out a swift arm to keep Gildor from stumbling over a rock or a root. “Mostly, I am glad that you are feeling better. I did not like to see you so distressed.”

Tilting his head to one side, Gildor laughed. “Oh, well perhaps the fun experience will remain in my mind as I face the temptation to use it again. The only thing more fun than going though this once would be going through this twice.”

“Something like that,” Erestor smiled. 

In the meantime, the dog followed them at a slight distance, his tail wagging lazily. 

“Damn it all, Erri, that fucking dog needs a name. I am not going to live under this roof and be saying ‘dog’ all the time. He demonstrated a mocking series of potential interactions with their pet. ‘Come here, dog.’ ‘Good boy, dog.’ ‘You are the most wonderful dog, dog, yes you are’.”

“Dog Dog?” Erestor queried, raising his eyebrow. 

“Well, what else happens when one wants to address the dog in a more pointed manner, but said canine lacks a name? You end up with Dog Dog, that is what. I mean honestly, who even does not name their pet? The horses have names. We have names. You even gave your dick a name, Erri. I feel as though the magnitude of this oversight is expanding.” After gesturing wildly for emphasis, Gildor’s fists were now against his hips, his chest jutting forward.

“Technically I assigned my penis a title, not so much a name,” Erestor corrected. “‘Little Eres’ is not really a name.”

“The hell it is not,” Gildor argued, now waggling a finger. “President Penis, that is a title. Deputy Director Dick would be another. Shirriff Schlong, Sergeant Snakey, Captain Cock--all those are titles. ‘Little Eres’ is most definitely a name, and even you cannot argue that one, mister smarty smart pants. Title!” 

“Gildor, dear heart, where do you even come up with these gems? Now look at what you have done. There is almost no way Captain Cock is not going to make an appearance in our bedroom now. Thanks. Thanks so much,” Erestor grumped, though he failed to seem actually concerned. 

“Here, Dog Dog!” Gildor called, already distracted. Seeing that the nice elf wanted him, the dog trotted up to Gildor. “See? He likes it. If Fingon cannot be bothered to give you a name, then Dog Dog it shall be.”

Dog Dog wagged while Gildor scratched behind his ears.

“See? He agrees with me. The matter is settled,” Gildor declared triumphantly.

For emphasis, Dog Dog lifted his leg on a wooden fence post, licking his lips in satisfaction.

“Oh? Do I detect a challenge, Dog Dog?” cried Gildor, already untying his leggings.

“Gildor, I--” Erestor tried to interrupt, too late. In a moment, Gildor was busily covering the canine contribution with his own mark. Darting glances both ways, Erestor hoped very much that no one else was nearby and witnessing this.

The dog narrowed his eyes, and returned to the post, lifting his leg once again--but only a few disheartening drops issued forth.

“Ha! See? Amateur!,” Gildor exulted. “You pissed yourself out, and now you cannot complete. I win!” Still he skipped and hopped all around, and Erestor began to feel tired just from watching. 

“Gildor, love, I think we should head back. I equally think that you should do up your breeches, since one never knows who might be around?”

“Tsk. You know how I like a healthy breeze around myself. Keeps me happy,” the blond teased.

“Gildor…”

“Alright, fine, I shall behave myself. Just this once, for you, darling. You should note it on the calendar.” 

To Erestor’s extreme happiness, Gildor did indeed take measures to reassemble his clothing. He felt it safe to change topics. “I am anxious to help Glorfindel and Fingon so that they do not have to do all the food preparation. I at least can chop vegetables and other tasks not part of actual cooking.”

“Oh, good idea! I can help too. I can clean, you know. I like to care for the house, just ask Mae Mae. His place was such a hopeless man-cavern when we first came together, and with a little time and patience, well! Now it is a truly restful space to occupy. Soothing, and even I daresay-- pretty.  I do fear for the current state of it, though; I packed everything in advance, went to work, and left to come here after allowing Mae Mae two weeks alone. He quite lives like a bachelor given the chance.”

“I admit some guilt in that department as well,” Erestor revealed.  “Glorfindel is somewhat better, and somewhat worse, depending on the specifics.  It really is a wonder that Fingon can keep up with us at times.”

They walked on for a time, Gildor occasionally even going so far as to hop in place, until Erestor began to find it oddly compelling. “Is that actually fun, or do you just have the jitters so bad you cannot stand still?” the dark one asked.

“Fun!” Gildor smiled. “Fun! Fun! Fun! Here, try it with me, I insist!” Without hesitation he grasped Erestor’s wrist firmly and jumped up in place. “Come on now, skip!” And then he bounced off, dragging Erestor with him. It took a few awkward moments, but Erestor soon matched his stride, and found himself laughing at the odd pattern of skips and hops that were almost a sort of dance. A real and very brilliant laugh that came from deep within continued as they made their way back to the cottage.

Inside the home, Glorfindel heard the punctuated noises and had gone to a window where it was possible to see them. “Blessed Eru, will you look at that?” he said absently to Maedhros.

“What is my boy doing now? I feel almost afraid to know,” Maedhros smiled weakly. It had been a few hours since he had last vomited, and an entire cup of plain, weak tea had been kept down--so far. 

“Call it what you want, but I may have to kiss him when he returns, for Erestor is playing with him. And laughing. Like an elfling, as I have not truly seen since Gondolin, and it is the most beautiful sight I have ever beheld,” Glorfindel told him, blinking back tears. “All these years of enmity between those two, and now this. I am so thankful.”

Maedhros saw the two elves now, appearing to be skipping in circles using their joined wrists as a pivot point, while Dog Dog chased and barked happily.  “It is worth it to go through this, you know. For him,” Maedhros smiled, carefully placing an arm over Glorfindel’s shoulder.

Glorfindel’s arm snaked around Maedhros’ waist and he leaned into him. “Mae, I have to talk to him, and I do not mean Erestor.”

“Mmhmm.  I was wondering how long it would take you to seek my advice,” said Maedhros. 

“At this moment, I am torn between wanting to shake him and ask him what is wrong with him, and truly giving no fucks about what Fingon wants. Asfaloth and I followed him this morning. He slept all night on a wadded pile of linens in another room, and took his bath in a stream so cold that his balls are still probably on vacation somewhere near his stomach. I have felt these last days like my world is shattering and I do not know what to do. Elrond is coming because I told him what is happening here, and I have not revealed that even to Erestor. You know Fingon better than I do. Was I a fool to fall in love with him? I have determined not to pile my miseries onto Erestor for the time being, but I am running out of the strength to go it alone. To be clear, I have no intention of leaving Káno. I worry that he is going to leave me. Us. Last night when I spoke to him I felt like I was talking to a stranger.”

For a long moment both of them watched their spouses frolic before the question was answered. “What I am about to say is said in strict confidence, and did I not believe your love for him to be sincere I would not say it at all. But of everyone out there, I am the only other person who could possibly know what you are seeing--and experiencing. I do not believe you were a fool. Fingon has a greatness inside of him that is truly unmatchable. It is paired with a crippling self-loathing and fear that runs deeper than you can imagine. You feel like this all came out of nowhere, how he is behaving. You feel as though this is not the Fingon you know and what the hell even happened, am I right?”

Glorfindel nodded mutely.

“That is the Fingon he keeps buried as deep as he can, and only at times when he feels too much pressure--then that other one breaks loose and leaves a path of destruction in his wake. Some of it is our family’s doing. The expectations. But much of it is him, and how desperately he clings to maintaining that image he thinks people have of him. The awful part is, there is no need of it. He is brilliant and funny, kind and devoted all on his own. It would not matter that he is the greatest gymnast ever. It never mattered to me, anyway. All I wanted was to see him happy and at peace with himself, but there was always some belief that he had to do more. Be more. For my part, I was an idiot to accept Celegorm’s little challenge.  I am sure you know of that; the wager on how long I could ‘stand to be with Fingon’” 

Maedhros looked to the side, and when Glorfindel nodded, he continued.  “That was not one of my finer decisions in life, and I regret it, but I am trying to move on from it.  Fingon...sucks at moving on. He remembers things that happened when he was two years old that caused him distress, and then he dwells on them, but he also will not let go of things he did to others.  My brothers and I made a public apology for the kinslayings. Fingon sends them annual letters of regret and remorse and does penance for everything and still thinks himself a terrible person. I feel like I am shit at explaining this.”

“No, no, not shit,” Glorfindel returned. “I am listening and every single thing you have told me is resonating, because I, too, have seen what you mean. I do not love him for many of the things he seems to think make him worthy. I do not love him because he was High King or the greatest gymnast or because he can cook circles around all of us. I loved him because he showed me compassion. Because he became my friend and gave me unceasing support until I could stand on my own again. Because he took unwavering care of Ress when I did not. For his sense of humor and that he trusts me and...I do not care about any of his fucking achievements. I only want back the person I thought had married before I found out that the deceptions are piled on like layers of an onion. It would not have stopped me, you know. I still would have bound myself to him had he told me!” All the while, his voice had risen in a slow crescendo until he was speaking quite loudly and forcefully at the end.

“But he took away your choice, and that is why you are so angry?” Maedhros asked, looking down at Glorfindel with eyes full of compassion.

Blinking, Glorfindel pondered the words. “Is that what it is?” he asked quietly.

The tall redhead’s words resonated in his chest. “I feel it is what he tried to do to me, and at the root of why I left him. It is why I worry for both you and Erestor, because what he wants is not healthy. Not when it involves him having everything his own way. That is not a relationship, that is ownership. No one was going to own me. The fact that I honestly even considered it scared the fuck out of me, and was why I had to get away.” 

“Faelion owned me,” Glorfindel whispered, ashamed. “I am not sure I knew what to call it until you said that. He took everything from me. My friends, my clothes--even my body. He trapped me in a cage and had the door locked before I even understood what had happened.”

“That was not your fault,” Maedhros insisted, in tones so authoritarian that it did not even occur to Glorfindel to argue. “That is what being abused does to a person. You have to realize, Fingon never told me about the bad things that had happened to him. I was shut out. I wanted to help, but that was denied to me.  Do you know what that means? He could trust me to chain him to a bed, but he could not trust me to listen to his inner fears. And why? Did he think he would lose me, or that I would think lesser of him? Does he even know? I did not even know we had issues until they were too big for me.”

Glorfindel snorted. “I know that routine, too. Look, I knew on some level that we all had problems. That sooner or later they were going to bite us in the ass. I just did not know it would be such big problems. I mean, King…” He shook his head sadly.

“I cannot offer you the guidance you hope for,” Maedhros said, “because if I knew how to navigate those waters it would be me at his side.  That is a place I no longer have a desire to occupy, unless it be in the role of a loyal friend. But I can tell you one thing. If you can keep him from running, or from running you off, you can keep him talking to you. It was the one thing I never managed. If I were you, it is what I would at least try. You do hold some power over him, you know. He really does love you and Erestor. I have seen it in his eyes, and they do not lie.”

“Huh,” Glorfindel murmured. “Thank you. I at least feel more hopeful than I did before this conversation.”

“Do not make my mistake, Glorfindel. It never was about me, but him. He hides more pain than should even be possible, and seems to feel that somehow it is his personal mandate to be a paragon for all. No one can live up to that; it is an impossible expectation.”

Just then, the breathless pair burst into the house from the outdoors, and each skipped to their lovers, still laughing.

“Fin!” Erestor said excitedly. “I had fun!”

“I could see that, beautiful,” Glorfindel said, picking him up by the hips and swinging him around a little before setting him down. “Ohhh if only I had time to paint your sweet face right now! But since I do not…” Up on his toes he went, to pepper kisses all over Erestor’s face before finishing with a more meaningful one on the lips. “I shall memorize this moment for later and immortalize you on canvas when I next have time.”

Maedhros welcomed Gildor into his arms.  “You seem to have had a nice day, too,” he assessed as he took a firm hold with his hand of Gildor’s rear.  The dog barked loudly.

“Uh-oh,” Gildor said brightly. “Dog Dog thinks you are going to wake up Captain Cock!”

“I will just apologize for him now,” Maedhros said, smoothly occupying Gildor’s lips to prevent further speech.

“Mmmmfff mfmfmmmmm” or something near to it came from Gildor, whose attention was most definitely being redirected. 

Glorfindel took the hint. “I almost do not want to know, but since I am going to steal you for help with breakfast, you can tell me in the kitchen.” Dog Dog began to bark happily and chase his tail in circles, excited to see such happy elves.

“So, good morning so far?” Glorfindel asked Erestor, whose eyes still glistened with joy. 

“Oh, yes! Very! But...a little peculiar, if I think more about it…”

“Peculiar is fine, Ress. I can deal with peculiar. At this point I think I even embrace it. Which is why I am quite eager to hear about Dog Dog and Captain Cock. If you would be so kind as to slice and peel these apples, I will sort the chickpeas. We are not going to have a repeat of yesterday; I am going to make enough food to last through to tomorrow.”

“I can do both apples and legumes,” Erestor smiled, first washing his hands. “And then maybe there will still be enough time for Captain Cock, because I really feel that Gildor is doing much better today.”

Both of them burst into laughter, and kissed each other. “I wish Káno was here,” Erestor said, missing his mate during a joyful moment.

Glorfindel hugged Erestor more tightly. “Me too, Ress. Me too.”

####  Evening of Day Nine

Once again, Fingon returned to the cottage late.  This time he had with him bread from the market and an assortment of fruit from the mainland that could not otherwise be procured from their garden due to weather.  He went straight to the kitchen, set the sack of citrus on the counter, draped his satchel over a chair, and began to roll up his sleeves.

“There you are!  We waited for you and luckily Erestor predicted you would be here late, so we have kept everything warm, and there is food enough for tomorrow, too, and all of the things in the yard are picked, even what was ripe and did NOT look like a penis even though to me they looked like they needed a little more time to mature, if you get my drift,” said Gildor as he nudged Fingon.  “Come! Eat with us!” He tugged on Fingon’s arm.

“Oh.  Well, I should make sure everything is cleaned first,” said Fingon, but to this, Gildor waved his hand.  

“I took care of that, too!  I washed the linens, hung them to dry, gathered the garbage, fed the chickens, swept the floor, washed the windows--”  Gildor took a deep breath and continued, “--washed and dried the dishes, swept out the fireplaces, beat the rugs, mopped the floors, brought the linens in, shined the shoes and the boots and named the dog.”

“Excuse me, you did what?” asked Fingon as Gildor tugged on him again.

“I named your dog.  You are welcome. I did a thing for you.  Be happy! Come on!” Gildor struggled to pull on Fingon’s arm, but he did not budge.

“What about the greenhouse?” asked Fingon.

Gildor sighed.  “I swept the greenhouse, too.”

“I meant, the berries and the tomatoes.  Were they tended to?” asked Fingon.

“No.  But dinner!” insisted Gildor.

Fingon gently removed Gildor’s hand from his arm.  “I am not hungry, and if the greenhouse is untended, I have work to do.  Please enjoy the meal,” he said. He took a step away before he added, “It is good to see you looking so well.”

Gildor’s shoulders slumped and he returned to the sitting room, where Erestor had arranged the food in the style of a picnic, with a checkered cloth on the floor and everyone sitting on cushions around it, even Maedhros, who had a small plate of bland foods he was willing to try.  “Sorry,” was all Gildor said.

Looks were exchanged between all of them before Glorfindel stood up.  “Where did he go?” Glorfindel asked gruffly.

“He said something about berries and tomatoes in the greenhouse,” offered Gildor.  “I really thought I could get him in here.”

“You tried, and that was a good effort on your part,” commended Glorfindel.  Gildor smiled. “The rest of you should begin. I will return shortly, with or without Fingon.”  Glorfindel headed out to the kitchen, and from there to the greenhouse, where he found Fingon examining the tomato plants.  “Good evening,” he said carefully. “We waited so that you could join us for dinner.”

Fingon’s hand fell away from the red and green fruit he was cradling and he took a step back.  “I apologize for the inconvenience I have caused you. I told Gildor I am not hungry.”

“You are not hungry, or you are not eating?” prodded Glorfindel.

There was uneasy movement from Fingon, who wrung his hands together.  “I am not eating because I am not hungry.”

“And you want me to believe you have not been hungry for an entire week?”  Glorfindel took a substantial step closer, confident that even if Fingon backed away again, there was only so much space between his husband and the wall of the greenhouse.  “Do you think I have been blind to what you have been putting yourself through? Ever since Maedhros and Gildor arrived, you have pecked at your food, taken smaller portions, and nibbled if that.  Do you eat when you are at work? Did you even eat at all yesterday?” When Fingon only looked down, Glorfindel continued with, “Did you eat today?”

“There has been much to do,” whispered Fingon.

“Yes, there has.”  Glorfindel took another step, and now he was close enough to touch Fingon, so he reached out and took hold of Fingon’s hand.  He fingered the blue-gold ring there and said, “My vows were not taken lightly. I am with you. If you hurt, I hurt. If you starve, I starve.  I am only willing to eat the food you eat.”

Worry washed over Fingon’s face.  “You cannot do that. That is ridiculous!”  He whimpered a little when he heard the grumble from Glorfindel’s stomach.  “I am fine. Please! Just leave me here, please. You need to eat.”

Glorfindel tugged up the hem of Fingon’s shirt with his free hand and brushed his fingers over the skin that stretched over Fingon’s ribs, and Fingon swallowed hard.  “So do you.” Glorfindel tugged the tunic back in place and let go of Fingon’s hand, but held his own out. “Join me?”

Guiltily, Fingon laced his fingers with Glorfindel’s, and was led out of the earthy-scented room and back through the kitchen, and finally to the sitting room, where plates were being filled with an assortment of appetizers, some of which Fingon was unfamiliar with.  As Glorfindel and Fingon sat down at the empty side of the cloth, Gildor, clearly acting as host, asked, “What can I get for the two of you?” He was armed with a tongs in one hand and an empty dish in the other.

“I will have whatever Fingon is having,” said Glorfindel, and he looked to Fingon for dining guidance.  

“Um… nothing with meat for me,” said Fingon quietly.  “Other than that, I suppose I can try what is here.”

“You do eat seafood, though, right?” questioned Gildor as he began to place two of several items onto the plate.  When Fingon nodded, a few more delectables were piled on. “Most of these are recipes from my mother’s side of the family, extremely good Vanyarin cuisine, not too spicy, either, though a lot of people think that Vanyarin foods are full of spices, they only add heavy spices when they are marinating for a very long time so that it protects the food and keeps--”

A hand, belonging to Maedhros, suddenly covered Gildor’s mouth.  “You are so loud, my love,” groaned Maedhros. “I thought you were a flute, but you are a trumpet.”

Gildor took away Maedhros’ hand, kissed it, and continued with, “We can talk about my flute if you want, but I just have a few more words to say about Vanyarin cooking, though it is not as if this is something new, this is just who I am, my darling dearest, and--”  

Now Maedhros used the stump of his hand as a sort of plug, and Gildor attempted to continue, but his words were a jumbled mess that had them both laughing.  

Erestor grinned and used the pause to speak to Fingon.  “It is so wonderful that you are here in time to be with us.  I missed you quite a lot yesterday, and today as well. My knee seems to have just about healed; I took a nice early walk with Gildor today and it hurt very little.  I think by next week I might be able to accompany you to the library again.” He bit his lip and said, “I thought I might try wearing the scarf on the first day back.  What do you think?”

“I think you should do what makes you happy, and if that is something you desire, then I am in full support,” said Fingon.

“As am I,” added Glorfindel, who had so far not touched the food on the shared plate, for Fingon had not, either.  Now he picked up one of the items, which looked like a tiny pie, and held it up in front of Fingon. “I believe this is a vegetable pie,” he said.

Fingon pushed back the braids from his face and leaned in to take a tiny bite from it.  The pastry crust stuck to his lips, and he licked it off. “Very good,” he said.

Glorfindel turned the tiny pie and noted that Fingon had managed to only nibble off a bit of crust.  He mirrored Fingon’s actions, which left most of the pie still between his fingers. “Indeed. Excellent job, Gildor.”  Glorfindel held the pie back up again, and Fingon gave him a pleading look.

_ You need to eat and that is an obvious fact.  Gildor has worked hard to make sure there is something for everyone here.  If you want me to make a scene, I will, but better that you suck it up and eat something more substantial than a few flakes of pastry. _

For a moment, Fingon and Glorfindel simply stared at each other while the other three laughed at some joke Gildor had made.  Then Fingon opened his mouth wide enough for Glorfindel to insert quite a lot of anything, and he took the invitation to deposit the rest of the pie in Fingon’s mouth.

Fingon had to cover his mouth to keep from spitting crumbs out as he chewed, and he concentrated very hard on not gagging, for he felt he had clearly not meant for Glorfindel to shove the entire fucking thing into his mouth.  It took two swallows and some water to get it all down, after which Fingon found he was confronted with the next thing Glorfindel picked up from the plate. This time it was a slice of bread from a small loaf, topped with a soft cheese and diced olives.  Once again, the staring contest occured, but this time, Fingon opened his mouth in defeat. He managed to sink his teeth in before Glorfindel could force the whole thing in at once, and was relieved when Glorfindel finished off this bit of food himself.

“How was work today?” asked Gildor at the exact moment Fingon’s mouth was full of food.

The cheese and bread were sticking to the roof of his mouth, so Fingon waved an arm, shrugged a shoulder, shook his head, and finally, once the had the food down his throat, said only, “Fine.”

Erestor started watching Fingon carefully, beginning to feel that something was amiss. Glorfindel attempted to intervene. “The food is very good, is it not, Ress? I feel quite spoiled, and I have had few of these before.”

A hand was laid on Fingon’s knee by Glorfindel, who now spoke in thought.  _ I have worked very hard to keep from Ress that there is difficulty between us. You are on the verge of him asking you what is wrong. I know you are tired. I know you are in emotional difficulty, but I am asking you to put him ahead of both of us. Can you please try a little harder to pretend that something is not wrong? _

A tremor ran through Fingon, but it was gone as soon as it came.  He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, it was as if everything was back to how it had been.  The show must go on, he told himself, and he mustered all his stage training and experience to deliver an exemplary performance.  “I believe you have outdone Grandmother Indis with your skills in Vanyarin cooking,” Fingon said, and he reached down to select an item without even looking at it and ate it with vigor.

_ With all my heart, thank you, Káno,  _ Glorfindel told him silently, giving Fingon’s knee a brief squeeze before continuing to eat. At the same time, he found that the display he had just witnessed gave a great deal of credence to what Maedhros had told him earlier, and he began to reflect more earnestly on many things about their life together.

Gildor beamed.  “I took some lessons with your father.  Did I tell you that?”

“You did indeed in one of your letters,” confirmed Fingon.  “If you like, I can bring some books on the topic to you from the library.”

“Oh!  That reminds me!  I have finished two of the books you brought,” said Erestor.  “If you would not mind, they could be returned when you go to work tomorrow.”

“Gladly.  Are there any others you would like brought home?” asked Fingon.  “For that matter, if anyone wishes something, put in your requests now, and I shall be sure to fulfill them for you.”

It was only as the meal was finished and dishes were being taken out to the kitchen that Fingon made the attempt to nudge his way into Glorfindel’s head without Erestor hearing.   _ There is no need to thank me.  What I did, I did for him, not for you.  From now on, I expect that you will tell me what I do, where I go, what I eat, when I speak, what I say, and whatever it is you expect of me.  I am otherwise at a loss as to the purpose of my life, but I will not risk Erestor’s unhappiness with my words or actions. If I am to be your thrall, so be it. _

_ Oh? Well, then. You will come outside with me, where we can converse privately. _

A yawn issued forth from Erestor, who stretched and looked around.  “The kitchen should be safe if I am just helping to clean, right?”

“You could do that,” said Gildor, “Or, you could come back into the sitting room, and climb into bed, and I would even read you a story, if you had bedtime stories on hand, except you do not need one, because you were harvesting, and skipping, and keeping me from peeing on too many things in the yard, and finding me a stepladder when I needed it, and--”

Erestor laughed at Gildor’s litany of tasks, and patted him on the head.  “Alright, alright, to bed with me,” he agreed.

“And I am going to get this one cleaned up a bit,” Glorfindel chuckled. “We will be along.”

“Oh! Clean up! That sounds mmmfff-” Gildor tried to say.

“Sweetcakes, you promised him a story, and you promised me help with cleaning,” Maedhros reminded him. 

“Right! Story!” Gildor beamed, now resuming course to fuss over Erestor.

Unseen by Fingon, Glorfindel shot Maedhros an expression of gratitude and led Fingon outside toward the pool, gesturing to one of the stools. “Sit.”

Wordlessly Fingon obeyed, hands folded in his lap.

Glorfindel sighed, and ran his hand through his hair. “I, uhm, have some things I need to say to you,” he said, looking up to the stars. Perhaps he wanted strength, perhaps he wanted guidance; he felt unsure. The one thought that came to mind was for the moment, to abandon the extremely authoritarian disposition he had so newly adopted. He knelt in front of Fingon, taking one of his hands and tried to ignore the shudder that he felt run through the tall frame.

“I have not been at my best since I learned of the royal succession issue,” Glorfindel admitted. “I have expressed what little I have said very harshly. Punitively. I am asking your forgiveness, for that. I can already see that what has passed between us has caused you to pull away from me, which compounded what I am experiencing. Today I came to understand that I am reacting far less to you than to the misfortunes of my life prior to us having a relationship. I have learned that I am deeply afraid of being used, taken advantage of, and then abused. None of that is any of your doing. There is a lot I am not sure I fully understand, but I want you to know that despite my behavior, I love you. I mean to make an effort to heal what has passed between us, now and always; any chance to do otherwise dissolved when I made my vows to you. You are stuck with me, I am afraid, and I yearn for happiness to be restored. But...I am not the only one struggling, am I? I hope you will let me in, Káno. Maybe not today, when hurt feelings and pain still abound. I do not want our lives to be like this. If we do not find a way, eventually Erestor will become sucked in as well. Here I want to protect him, and he is sailing circles around both of us.” Glorfindel chuckled a little, at the irony, shaking his head. “Please forgive me.”

“You are forgiven, for there is nothing you have done that merits need for forgiveness.”  Fingon still sat very still as he spoke. “All wrongdoings lie with me, and what I have done is beyond the likelihood for forgiveness at this time.  Fear not for the future, for my intentions remain the same as I stated before. I will not be the cause of strife for you or Erestor. As stated, I intend to do as you wish.  Command me, and I shall obey.”

Glorfindel looked up, surprised. “What if my first command is for you to knock this bullshit off?” He stood up quickly, pacing near the little stool. “This is no way to have a relationship. You want me to do to you what Faelion did to me? I cannot do that. Even if it somehow were in me to treat a loved one that way, which it is not, I would find the idea unconscionable. Sweetheart, you are hurt. Badly. Are you going to tell me I cannot forgive what you did? Do you know me at all? I would not have cared, Fingon, had you told me.” He threw up his hands. “I know that now. I still would have wanted you, king thing or no king thing. I do not care about king thing. I care about the man sitting in front of me, and that he suffers. All this time I thought I was the one with problems, with Erestor being--well, Erestor. It left me blind to what you are doing. Enduring. Sweetheart, you cannot continue like this. You are too good of a person. We need help, because I have not the skill to aid you. Please?”

“It is not the same as it was between you and Faelion, because I am agreeing to this.  It did wonders tonight,” Fingon said. “You told me to eat, so I ate. You told me not to worry Erestor, so I became the life of the party.  Give me a task, and I will not disappoint you in its completion, and you and Erestor can live happily ever after, and I will not cause a rift between the two of you.  You can even instruct me on how to rule, should it come to that.”

“You were not there,” Glorfindel reminded him. “You were not there when every night he told me to spread my legs for him, and I was agreeing to that. I was agreeing to be abused. And right now your agreement is no different. Can you listen to yourself, love? Because I want to believe that if any of us were speaking as you are now, that you would be deeply and completely alarmed. I repeat, we need help, and we will find it. If you are consigning your authority to me  so be it; but I will use it only to help you and Erestor. Until you can wake up from this nightmare you have entered and realize that you should not be abdicating your self-respect.”

Fingon snorted.  “You seem to think I have some self-respect left.  Do with me as you will, Glorfindel.”

  
“Sweetheart, please, no. Do not do this to me. To us. If the wrongdoing is yours, why are you punishing both of us for no reason? You are twisting things in your mind to justify clinging to your hurt. I forgive you for what you did not tell me. I forgive you for all the things you have not told me. It does not have to be today, this minute, but I am begging you, give me a chance to find how we can be helped? I will not leave you to be like this. I will not! You married the wrong ellon, if you think I will stand around while you self-destruct. I have died in fire before, Findekáno. I will do it again if I must.” For a brief moment, Glorfindel of old was the one speaking, with a compelling power surrounding him. He even seemed brighter, as he spoke, and then that vanished away. He crouched down again, pulling Fingon to him. “I love you, you fool. One day you will understand what that means.”

Fingon nestled against Glorfindel, but did not speak again.  He did not argue when Glorfindel made the suggestion they bathe together, nor when Glorfindel yawned and announced they should make their way to bed.  A little sigh came from Glorfindel when he tried the tactic of making pleasant conversation while they dried off, and still, Fingon did not speak. Finally, with the moon high overhead, they came back inside.  Maedhros and Gildor were already asleep, cuddled up together. Erestor beckoned Glorfindel and Fingon with a smile, and they joined him in the bed he was residing in, with Fingon on the end, falling asleep last, and under duress, and only because he was so frightfully tired that he could no longer force himself to stay awake.

****  
  
  


####  Day 9 Late Evening Nightmares

****  
  


Most of Fingon’s dreams were filled with strange symbolism and cryptic messages he fought to figure out.  That was not the case at the moment. It was quite clear that he had drifted off uneasily, and his thoughts were restless, bringing him back to a time and place he cared not to be ever again.  He was in the middle of the battlefield, surrounded. Somehow, he fought through the orcs and demons, just as he always did, only to stand before a mighty balrog. 

He knew how the end came, and each time he tried different tactics.  Sometimes he dodged, and other times he ran head-first at the creature.  The fight always carried on, always longer than the last time, as he improved each time the dream manifested.  No matter how well he fought or his determination, another would suddenly bind him -- that red-hot whip of fire, burning through his clothing, fusing armor to skin, burning his flesh, until the final blow that tore through him.  Somehow, everyone always thought he was finished at that moment, but he never shared with them the few seconds more when he felt his body being trampled into the ground before death was merciful.

Fingon awoke with a start, and found the sheet wound around him from his struggle with his night terrors.  He placed a hand over his mouth, aware of the fact he was sweating and had likely made enough noise to wake the entire household. 

“Sweetheart?  Are you alright?”

It was Glorfindel’s voice, and in the darkness, Fingon saw that he was the only one who had been alerted.  It figured, he thought. A tear fell slowly down one cheek, and then another mirrored it on the other side.  “The fucking balrogs got me again,” he whispered before the tears began to flow freely, and he found himself tucked into Glorfindel’s arms, clinging to him before he had to say another word.

Love, poured into his mind, as much as Glorfindel could give. Few could say they understood, but he numbered among them. “You know you won in the end, right? For they are unhoused and you are here. I love you so much.” The words were whispered, before he was held even more tightly.

“I love you, too,” tumbled out before Fingon could uphold the facade of the last few days.  He sniffled and said, “It was so much easier in the Halls. There are days that I long to be rid of this emotion-filled body.  To be blessed with that eternal rest I was once gifted with so long ago.”

Glorfindel cringed to hear this, and yet he was at least hearing something. Maybe if he just asked questions? “What was your favorite part?” he tried to ask. “I annoyed Námo. A lot.”

“It was quiet and peaceful,” answered Fingon as he continued to cry against Glorfindel’s chest.  “No one considered me a king there. I was just an elf, like everyone else.”

“It will be alright, sweetheart,” Glorfindel soothed. “I will make it be alright. Just as you did for me. I love you.” He began to kiss Fingon on the cheek, tenderly, while the other arm held him close.

A mix of emotions swelled within Fingon, and the closeness caused him to move closer.  He turned his head in order to face Glorfindel and shakily lifted his hand to touch Glorfindel’s cheek.  Without warning, he pressed his lips against Glorfindel’s, his eyes open as he did so.

Glorfindel returned what was given, measure for measure, and worried about their affection escalating with Fingon having seemed so depressed. He determined that he would use whatever self control was necessary to not press for any more than Fingon wanted. “I missed this,” he breathed, exchanging the kisses gratefully.

Fingon’s hand moved behind Glorfindel’s neck, massaging while he deepened the kisses he offered, tongue delving into familiar and longed-for territory.  He moved a leg to hook around Glorfindel, bringing their bodies closer. “So did I,” admitted Fingon before resuming the activity once more.

With all his willpower, Glorfindel struggled to temper his reactions; already he knew he was aroused. That aspect of his body was beyond his control. Badly as he wanted to, he avoided thrusting his hips toward Fingon and focused instead on the kisses, and his hands. That was when he realized, he could offer his mate gratification without taking any for himself. He barely brushed a finger near an ear.  _ You only need think to me what you wish. I ask nothing for myself, though I will not say no if you desire me within you or if you desire to take me. I would be deeply honored to give you pleasure and the relaxation to follow, however you may wish it.   _

A slight rustle caused Fingon to sit up and pull away in panic.  He looked over Glorfindel to see that everyone else was still asleep.  A moment later, the dog, who had decided he should also get to sleep on the giant bed, stood up from his self-appointed spot near Gildor’s feet, turned around, and flopped back down.  Uncertain now as he looked around the room, Fingon trembled. He had no explanation for it, no reason or logic to back it up, but he suddenly felt fear.

“We can go into another room,” suggested Glorfindel in a very low voice.  “Outside, perhaps.”

“Outside,” hissed Fingon back, for it seemed that the outdoors would be bigger and less intimidating, and give him an easier chance to run if he had to.  He hoped Glorfindel did not pick up on that fleeting thought.

“I will gather a few things, and meet you there?” Glorfindel pressed a kiss into Fingon’s chin once they had both arisen.  Fingon nodded and practically bolted out of the room. Glorfindel shook his head, but went about gathering towels and oil, just in case, and on the off-chance his husband had not run off already.

That was not the case.  Fingon made it as far as the privy before he found that his consumption of wine had been greater than he recalled, and he needed a moment to reflect on this choice with the chamberpot.  Recollection of the food the night before was in his mind as well, and he splashed his hand in the basin of water to cover the sound of purging as he managed to bring up some of the items he had forced himself to eat.  He also reflected on what had been going on, and found his head swimming. Uncertainty as to whether or not Glorfindel could hear any of these thoughts plagued him, and so Fingon struggled to put up the mental barriers Erestor had been teaching him about.  Fingon thought to gather clothing from the bedroom, but considering everyone else was naked, and the cottage was so secluded, and it was so very clearly not the first time he had wandered out into the night without a stitch of clothing, he did so again now.  His steps were purposeful, but he hesitated every now and then, and even considering turning around before he reached the pool.

Somehow, Glorfindel had arrived first but lingered in the shadows. Now he embraced Fingon from behind. A soft robe was unexpectedly placed around Fingon’s shoulders and tied shut before Glorfindel resumed his embrace.  “What are you feeling, Káno?” He wanted to add, ‘Before you answer, think carefully on what happened between us earlier,’ but was trying to be mindful of Fingon’s skittishness and demeanor. 

The initial shock of having Glorfindel sneak up behind him wore off quickly.  Fingon rubbed a hand over Glorfindel’s arm, noting that Glorfindel had also acquired a robe for himself.  A little shiver shook him. “I am thankful that you are here with me. I appreciate what you did in there, considering how we have been.  I have not had a memory dream like that in a long, long time.”

“You must be under a lot of pressure,” Glorfindel said carefully.  “When I would get dreams about the end of Gondolin or other horrors I faced, it was usually because I had encountered a considerable amount of stress.”  Glorfindel kissed Fingon’s shoulder, which he had to stretch on his toes to do. “What else are you thinking about?”

“I still have many thoughts jumbled in my head.  I am honestly tired and drained, both physically and mentally, but I am willing to give it a go.  I am… still trying to sort out how to make things right again. I fucked up so many things and I feel like I dug a hole so deep I cannot climb up out of it.”

“You only need to focus on opening yourself to us.  You do not make anything right except by the avoidance of wrong, love. Sharing your true thoughts and feelings with us and not walling yourself off. That and time, are what you need to trust.” Glorfindel sighed. “I could see that you liked to have control of circumstances. I thought it was a quirk, a foible. But it runs deeper than that, I am discovering. I will help you, if you will allow me. Actually I will try to help you regardless of what you allow, because we married each other and that puts it all on another level. I have another question for you. Do you wish to make love, or would you prefer to return to bed? Or even a third choice; to lie in the hammock with me where I can caress you?”

Fingon looked to the hammock, then to the pool, and finally at the ground.  “I will do whatever you wish, Glorfindel.”

“That was not one of the options, Káno,” Glorfindel firmly countered.  He closed his eyes and wanted to bang his head against the strong back his forehead was pressed against.  

Fingon wrung his hands.  “You said yourself when we were inside that you would not ask for it, but wanted it if it was granted to you.  Therefore, I choose the first option,” he answered quietly.

“And if I were to tell you I preferred to be in the dominant role tonight?  Would you spread your legs in earnest and lie beneath me?” questioned Glorfindel.

Fingon swallowed hard.  “If that is what you want,” he said, staring at the water of the pool.

“So be it,” Glorfindel answered. “Come near the edge of the pool, and undress; I shall do the same.” He moved swiftly in comparison to Fingon, which bought time for reflection. Already he was disappointed, knowing that he had received the answer Fingon thought he wished to hear. Yet something cautioned him against another forceful, physically demanding encounter. An idea formed, which he hoped would...work.

Fingon took a deep breath to center himself.  As he walked to the pool, he shed his robe, so that when he reached his destination he was nude.  Without a single word, he took to his knees, and then lowered himself so that he was in the same position he was in when they were in the library days earlier.  “Or would you prefer something else, Glorfindel?” he asked, his voice even and eerily calm.

“I am not yet certain,” Glorfindel answered, circling him. “Spread your legs, please? Not too wide. And for a moment, raise up a bit.”

“Like this?” Fingon asked as he stretched so that his legs were straight, his ass much higher now, and his legs a little wider than they had been.  He had little difficulty with the position thanks to his extensive training, but it was still a stretch, with his fingertips keeping him from falling over.

“No, but oddly enough that will suffice regardless. It is not your fault; I was not specific enough,” Glorfindel told him, sliding his body in a fluid motion underneath Fingon’s so that Fingon now straddled him. “Lie down on me,” Glorfindel now invited. “Do not bear any of your own weight. I want you to be completely comfortable. If you wish you may kiss me.”  While Glorfindel was suitably stiff in a way that expressed his desire despite the circumstances, Fingon’s penis, impressive though it was in such a relaxed state, dangled uselessly.

Now Fingon looked down, and his mind pieced together that it did not appear that Glorfindel intended to make love to him, but the other way around.  His limbs trembled, but his joints were locked in place. Fingon ground his teeth, but his determination faltered, and he started to cry openly. “I do not want to,” he whispered.  “I do not want this right now. If you want my body, you can take me and I will not object, but I cannot do what you are asking me to right now,” he blubbered. “I am such a failure.”

“You are not a failure, but you did not tell me your truth, sweetheart.”  Glorfindel’s arms now locked around Fingon’s torso in what he meant as a loving hug, which only served to make Fingon cry harder. “You told me what you thought I wanted to hear. It was what you thought I expected. And now, because I did not take you when you initially offered yourself, you drew a series of conclusions about what I wanted. You did not ask me. I never meant for you to take me nor would I have attempted to enter you in the state of confusion you are in; I only wanted to have you lie on me while I massaged your neck and shoulders. I love you and I wanted to do something I believed you would find soothing.”

“I just want you to tell me what to do,” begged Fingon.  “I obviously make the wrong decisions for myself. I disappointed you.  If I cannot make the right decisions, then I need to defer to you.”

“I already mentioned what to do,” Glorfindel gently chided, stroking the skin of Fingon’s arm. “I want the truth from you. Not evasions or deceptions. What I am trying to understand is why that is so terribly difficult for you.  Sweetheart, what happened? Were you punished somehow, for being yourself? You are so focused on not failing that you cannot allow yourself the one simple thing by which you will succeed without question--honesty with yourself and others.”

“Honesty.  You want honesty.”  Fingon pulled away, his anger surfacing.  “I am confused, and I am weary.” He gathered up his robe and pulled it on with haste, though it was left hanging open, for the sash was caught on one side in a sleeve.  “I do not know what to do anymore! I do not know what to say anymore!” He paced with the hammock between them and rubbed his face. “I have spent my entire fucking life being told who I was and what I was and how to fucking act.  Why is this so terribly fucking difficult for me? Because I do not know who the fuck I am, Glorfindel! I am not even me anymore! I was never this tall, my voice did not quite sound like this, and people are constantly in my head now!  I ended up so aroused the other night with you, I have no idea what I am -- I cannot be gay, because I enjoyed touching you more than I ever enjoyed touching a penis, but I cannot be straight, because I love the company of men -- yes, men, not a man, multiple, men.  I do not even know what I am supposed to be! Some days I feel like a man, some days I… I….” Fingon trembled. His fists were clenched, but his whole body was beginning to slump.

“Keep going,” encouraged Glorfindel, keeping his distance.

“Some days I think Aredhel and I were born into the wrong bodies.”  Fingon blinked a few times and licked his lips. “Of course, we are not supposed to say such things, not supposed to think such things.  It would mean we are declaring that Eru was wrong, and we cannot possibly do that, now can we? There are days I want to show off my prowess as a hunter and punch something and be extremely masculine, and there are days I yearn for the unattainable opportunity to carry a child in my own body and leave my hair long and be charmingly beautiful, and then there are days I wish I was just a cat.  An actual fucking cat, not an Elf, just a cat. So what the fuck am I?” Fingon ran a hand over his hair. A hint of sunlight seemed to shake him slightly out of his rant. “Erestor is going to be waking soon, and with him, Maedhros and Gildor,” he realized. “Someone should be there for them, and I am a mess.”

“Yes, someone should be,” Glorfindel said with a voice full of compassion. “But you are in greater need than any of them are right now. Thank you, for speaking from your heart. Would you sit with me, love?”  He took a step closer, like someone who had discovered a wounded animal on their doorstep, and knew to take caution.

Slowly, Fingon approached.  He loomed over Glorfindel, and shook his head.  “I need to be alone right now. I am sorry. That was a lot that I never meant to say, and it just came out like a flood.”  He leaned down to kiss the top of Glorfindel’s head. “I will be on the roof until I have to leave for work. I need to go in today, even if it is for a little while.”

“I do not like it,” Glorfindel asserted calmly, rising to his feet. “Nothing has ever come of you going off alone, except that it is what you do when your anxiety has been driven too high. It allows you to calm down, to put your mask back on again, but what changes underneath? You may go to the roof and have all the time you need, but you are not going alone. ‘I am with you’ is not some empty promise made the day we bonded. I will not speak a word to you if that is what you wish. I can remain in silence. But you will not be alone. That is not negotiable.”

Fingon’s shoulders slumped.  “Fine. Forget it,” he said, and he walked away, around the pool where they so often came to relax together.  “We can stay off the roof. You spend all this time telling me I need to tell you the truth and what I want, and then just like everyone else, you tell me I cannot have the simplest of things.”  He was on the other side of the pool now, where it was less traveled. There were weeds, and as Fingon walked, the prickers stung his feet and scratched across his legs, though he did not react. “Well, fine, you can keep me from going off on the roof alone, but you are not going to be able to keep everything from me.”  Without warning, Fingon fell onto his knees and punched his fist at the ground, into the mud, sand, and pebbles there. He slammed his hand down again and again, until his knuckles were split open and the deep brown of the earth mixed with blood. When pain from his self-inflicted wounds etched his face, he stuck his hand into the water and swirled it around with a hiss, and then yanked off his robe to wrap his hand, which he now cradled in his lap.

All of it happened very fast, in a blur. Glorfindel ran around the pool to go to him after the second strike, but all the damage was done before he could reach Fingon. Heedless of the burrs underfoot, Glorfindel lifted Fingon into his arms. No word was said while he carried him to the part of the pool where the ladder allowed for safe entry into the water--clothes be damned. Once there, he held Fingon tightly--and he wept to realize the depth of his husband’s suffering.

Quite astonishingly, despite the pain, Fingon did not cry.  He cradled his hand and drew back the blood-stained garment to see the open wounds.  "Do not worry. They always heal quickly. Time for another secret, I suppose," he said.  "This is not the first time I have done this here. I try to go off on my own when I need to, so I can scream or dance myself into a stupor or something to get it all out, but when I cannot, then, there is this."  Fingon wrapped the cloth tighter to stop the bleeding. "I never wanted you to see that. I never want Erestor to." He watched the blood seep through the cloth, and now his chin trembled a little. "I should have slipped away when you returned, when you were healthy again.  The two of you would have been so much better off without the burden I am. My most selfish act was staying because I feared to be alone, and yet all I do is cause you pain and grief."

“You are not causing me anything,” Glorfindel answered. “You misunderstand.” Stroking Fingon’s cheek, he moved on to tenderly kissing his brow. Next he took the injured hand, ghosting his lips over the wrist. “You also seem to forget that were it not for you, I would not be here. There would be no Eres and I, because healthy or not we could not have succeeded without your strength and love. I know you do not want to hear this.” He paused, looking for the right words. “I do not have the training of Elrond--or Gildor or even Faelion. But I know what depression looks like, Káno. Indeed, you were the one who brought me through that dark valley of self-hatred and utter despair. I love Erestor, but he did not help me for he could not. And all this time you masked from me that an even worse affliction gnawed at you. I have seen others who practiced self-harm...I did not have to do that--I was already harmed rather thoroughly; something I firmly believed I deserved for my sins. Sweetheart, we are going to find help for this.” 

Glorfindel looked heavenward toward the twilight of the rapidly approaching dawn. “I love you so much, and I will stop at nothing to help guide your steps as you guided mine. Oh, Káno, my tears are not for any pain you cause me. They are for the burden you insist on carrying alone even when it is crushing you beneath its weight. I would take it from you to carry instead but I know not how. That is why we need help.”

“I am so scared right now,” Fingon whispered as his body relaxed, not because the grief was less, but because the energy that fueled him was nearly gone for the moment.  “I do not want the others to see me like this,” he said as he pulled away his robe and looked at his hand. His fingers were curled from the pain, and the appendage was swollen, though the bleeding had mostly stopped.  “I do not want to be king again,” he stated suddenly, using his free hand to wipe at his eyes. “I came here to escape all of that, and now I feel like running again, but I have nowhere to go.” Shamefully, he recalled to Glorfindel his early morning ride days prior and his complete loss at what to do in life, uttering several times more his belief that he had failed in so many ways.  “I am trying not to make everything about me, but I am useless to help anyone else when I am like this. I let it all build, and I kept shoving it away, but it just piled up, like manure behind the barn, and now I cannot dig myself out of it because more shit just piles up and I find myself saying fuck it to even trying.”

“I am with you,” Glorfindel repeated. “Indeed you will find I will leave you with no choice, in that. You are my husband, as I am yours. Had you left I would have found you.” Many kisses were bestowed to Fingon’s cheek, and jaw. “All that you are feeling right now, all the sense of defeat and despair--have faith in us, Káno, and that you are a child of Eru, even if you have lost all belief in yourself. As for Erestor--he will not know of the reason for your injuries today. I cannot agree to help you hide this from him permanently but neither will it be revealed now. The others, however, will not know. This is the one deception in which I will aid you. I just need a brief moment.” Very gently, he lowered Fingon to a standing position in the water, ensuring he had a secure footing. With another chaste kiss to his lips and a deep sigh, he climbed up out of the water and stood at its edge, seemingly pondering something. Without warning, he sprang forward and twisted around to deliberately fall onto the rocks they so often avoided, feeling a searing pain against his back and side as he plunged underwater.. Not unexpectedly, he found himself raised up quickly by Fingon, whose eyes were wide in alarm.

“Fin!” he breathed in panic. 

“I am not badly hurt,” Glorfindel whispered as the first wave of pain passed through him. He reached to steady himself against Fingon. “Nothing is broken. You, on the other hand, in your desperate scramble to break my careless fall, had your knuckles crushed and cut against the rock.”

While he was speaking, Fingon turned Glorfindel around in the water, to look at his body. A few spots bled freely, clouding the water, while bruises began to form around them. “We are getting you out of the water,” he demanded. 

“I will,” Glorfindel assented. “Right after I check your hands to make sure no trace of soil remains in your injuries. Otherwise, it will not be a very good deception.”

“Fin I--”

“Show me,” Glorfindel insisted kindly but firmly. “Show me and then we will return inside and treat the cuts.”

With a look of defeat, Fingon did as he was asked, and held his hands up for Glorfindel’s inspection. The blond teased a errant bits of debris out of two of his knuckles before nodding in approval. 

“I feel utterly worthless...” Fingon began to start in again. “I am so sorr--”

“No, Káno.” Glorfindel held him close. “You are worth everything to me. When I was in some of my lowest moments, when I wondered how I was going to go on, it was the knowledge that I had promised myself to you and Eres that sustained me. I had no value in my own eyes, but I knew I had some unfathomable worth to both Ress and you. I accepted it, and under your care and strength slowly climbed out of my prison. Now we are going inside. Climb the stepladder ahead of me; I know you are exhausted. I will make sure you cannot stumble.”

“But, your--” once again Fingon was cut off.

“Go, Káno. Yes it hurts, but you are far weaker at the moment. I will be alright.” There was no arguing with the tone of Glorfindel’s command. Shoulders slumping, Fingon made his way out of the pool and immediately was swaddled in a towel by Glorfindel, who coaxed him to sit again on one of the silly painted stools while he was dried. Glorfindel’s dry towel was provided for Fingon to wear; he quickly blotted at himself with the used one. “Now come with me inside, and let me be the one to talk if anyone is already awake.”

Fingon mutely allowed himself to be taken by the hand inside. Erestor was alone in the giant bed; the dog had even resigned himself to the floor.  Sudden worry made Glorfindel insist that Fingon sit on the couch while a solo search party tracked down their guests. It was not very difficult, for some noise could be heard in one of the nearby smaller rooms.  

One door at the end of the hallway was ajar, and Glorfindel semi-reluctantly traveled there.  Soft murmurs and chuckles could be heard, and Glorfindel worried that he might be interrupting the blossoming of a morning rendezvous.  Relief washed over Glorfindel to see that a very contented couple lay in each other’s arms. Still they were nude, but obviously had finished their impromptu sexual encounter. “I am so sorry to interrupt but could we have some assistance? I fell; Káno tried to catch me and...look, we are a mess.”

“Now there is a session I want to hear about,” Gildor quipped, but rose at once to assess Glorfindel’s injuries, while Maedhros moved more slowly.  “Where is Fingon?”

“Out here.  We need to be quiet; Erestor is still sleeping,” said Glorfindel.

“Erestor is still asleep?  I must be losing my touch,” Gildor joked, but the look in his eyes showed concern at what he saw along Glorfindel’s back.  The trio made their way down the hall and back to the sitting room, where Fingon was appropriately still sitting. It was Maedhros who took note of Fingon’s bandaged hands. Fingon seemed to make a fuss of donning a pair of sleeping pants that did not even look long enough to be his. Walking to Fingon, Maedhros gently unwrapped the muddy, bloodied robe, seeing that Gildor was still clucking and fussing over Glorfindel. “Oh goodness,” Maedhros said, avoiding looking at Fingon’s eyes. “That looks painful. Tell me where you keep the supplies for healing?”

“There is a kit hanging on the wall just as you open the door to the cellar,” Glorfindel answered. “You should find everything there, including clean cloth squares and rolled strips for bandages. Fingon insisted we have a proper setup,” he said with a note of pride in his voice.

Maedhros bent down to kiss Fingon’s cheek tenderly. “I will gladly help. Be back in a moment.”

“Fingon, can you let a little more light in the room?” asked Gildor.  “I know that may wake Erestor, but I am willing to chance his ire.”

Fingon went to the window and used his good hand to pull back the curtain.  He paused to look out at the strips of sunshine adorning the lawn.  _ Fin, he knows,  _ Fingon told Glorfindel miserably, while not even being certain his mate could hear him. It felt like just...thinking at someone and wondering if anyone was listening.  _ I know he does. _

_ Then he knows, and he is choosing to show you love and compassion. But he cannot see your thought, Káno. So what he really has is an educated guess. And if he is the man I believe him to be, Gildor will not be told. I love you. _

Furiously blinking back tears, Fingon retreated to the couch, almost sitting before he realized he had never taken a good look at Glorfindel’s injuries. A few steps later he saw, and burst into tears. Red-faced with shame, he covered his mouth and threw himself into the corner of the sofa, curling into a fetal position. Gildor looked at Glorfindel questioningly, now worried. “This is my fault,” Glorfindel demurred. “Today was a lot and I should have toned it down out there, knowing how tired he was. He needs me; I will sit so that you can still patch us up once Mae comes back.”

Glorfindel moved to perch at the edge of the sofa, his ass barely able to find a purchase. He wormed a hand into Fingon’s tangle of limbs to position it over his heart, while the other gently rubbed at his back or gave light massages to his shoulders.  _ It is going to be well in the end. It will be. For Eru has brought us together and I will never leave you.  _ Fingon only cried harder, until nothing was left, and he passed into exhausted sleep as Maedhros entered the room again.

“Shit,” Gildor breathed once it was obvious Fingon slept. “Is he alright?”

“No,” Maedhros answered as he began to pull things from the kit and arrange them on the corner of the bed. He, unlike Gildor, seemed to look at Fingon as if this was perfectly normal -- or at least, that he had seen it enough for it to seem normal.  “But maybe he now has a chance to be.”

“Do I want to know?” Gildor inquired, now looking very seriously at Maedhros while he puttered with the salves and bandages as Glorfindel carefully maneuvered Fingon’s hand to where it could be treated.

“Maybe at some point, but not now,” Maedhros answered, stroking Gildor’s hair. “More than anything he needs to believe that others do not know of his pain, or at least that is what he thinks. I can give him that. We, can give him that.”

“You both have my gratitude,” Glorfindel told them in barely audible tones. “I am surprised that Erestor has not yet stirred.”

“Not a peep,” Maedhros replied, so very carefully dabbing the ointment to promote healing and discourage infection into the ugly splits on Fingon’s knuckles. “I cannot imagine he will stay that way much longer, though.  If you want to go and carry him upstairs, we will take care of Fingon and watch over him. I promise that one of us will come and get you should he stop sleeping.”

“Fin is not going anywhere until I treat his wounds,” Gildor hissed in a low voice. “Have you even looked at this mess?”

Maedhros leaned back around to take stock of the deep, ugly abrasions and one substantial cut on Glorfindel’s side. A crooked smile appeared on his face. “You need to be more careful out there,” he teased.

“I certainly do,” Glorfindel smiled, reaching to give Maedhros a brief hug around his waist.

“Hold still!” Gildor grumped.

“Yes, nana.”

Glorfindel felt a very solid pinch to his ass cheek and had to stifle a yelp.

“Leave the sass to your horse,” Gildor warned. “Or there is more where that came from?” 

Clearing his throat softly, Glorfindel concluded that silence was the path of wisdom. While he waited and felt Gildor’s extremely gentle ministrations, one decision coalesced in his mind. Erestor was right--Gildor and Maedhros were not just wanted, they were needed. In the quiet room, a sense washed over him that something new was beginning, though where it would lead was anyone’s guess.

“Now you may go,” Gildor told him when the cut was bound. “Off with you, off off off, take Erestor up before he wakes, while I see to this more challenging mess.” Gildor’s nose wrinkled as he puzzled out how best to bandage the damaged hand.

“Thank you,” Glorfindel told Gildor, leaning down to kiss Fingon and now addressing him. “Sweetheart, I am going to take Erestor upstairs.  You are more than welcome to join us once you are fixed up, but I also know that you were going to go in to work today. Do you plan on returning home on time the next few days? There is no wrong answer; I was just hoping to know your plans.”

Seemingly startled out of a reverie, Fingon nodded his head. “Yes. It is my intention to work boring, normal hours, and to get home in time for supper.  I think it is a very good idea for you to take Erestor upstairs. I may actually join you, but if I do not, sleep well, honey.”

“I shall,” Glorfindel smiled, casting eyes filled with love on his mate and blowing a kiss. “See you soon.”

Maedhros waited until Glorfindel had gone upstairs before speaking. “I have wrapped injuries like that before,” he told Gildor. “Six brothers, and all.”

“Not to mention a cousin,” Gildor fired back with a query in his eye.

“Hmm,” Maedhros grinned.

“All yours,” Gildor said, moving aside.

“Oh no, most definitely not all mine,” Maedhros whispered back. But he smiled while Gildor shook out a blanket for Fingon and tucked him in so that he would feel secure but not become overheated. Despite Fingon’s plans, he fell asleep while his hand was being tended to, and the decision was made by Gildor that it was best to leave Fingon on the couch for now.  Eventually pleased with the results of their combined efforts, they reoccupied the giant bed near the sofa and cuddled together to hopefully enjoy a few hours of extra rest.


	10. Day 10

Late Morning Day 10 

  
  


“How is your hand this morning?” Glorfindel asked Fingon very quietly while they were both seated at the table eating a simple porridge with fruit. Erestor slept on, having exhausted himself with attending to Gildor and keeping him occupied with beneficial and distracting pursuits. “Does it hurt very much?” The question held a measure of empathy but not pity, and if anything was rather matter-of-fact in tone though he gently reached out to barely touch the bandaged knuckles.

Fingon looked down at the bandages which had been expertly wrapped mere hours earlier, and then back up again.  He had slept in far longer than he intended, but agreed to breakfast before rushing off to work. “How is your back?”

“Still sore but I have had far worse. I do not mind, because...because I am in love with you,” Glorfindel said softly, though with very raw honesty.

“I know why you did it, but in the long run, you cannot do that again.”  Fingon placed his uninjured hand over one of Glorfindel’s. “When I get to that point, it is… not really me.  It is, but I lose control. I know if I can direct it at myself, then I just hurt myself and not someone else.  I do not want to hurt anyone else. I know I am hurting you despite everything I try to do.” He bowed his head.  “Like working. You tell me I have a choice, but, no, Glorfindel, someone has to do this. We still have debts from when we rebuilt the fireplace and when we had that year that all of the crops failed.  We need the income. I cannot just stop showing up.”

Glorfindel sighed. “I do not plan to make a habit of self-mutilation, but for your sake I did so gladly. It is my great hope that we will find a means for you to purge your feelings in a different manner. Or better yet, not need to. I am with you, beloved. Your problems are my problems.” He smiled as he shoved his spoon around in his porridge, for a plan had begun to form in his mind.

Fingon gave a noncommittal nod and played with his food until he deemed he would be able to abandon it.  “I wish I did not have all of these problems you had to deal with.”

“How do you think I felt when first I came here?” Glorfindel asked, looking away. “A pathetic wreck of a once-mighty hero, not able to use the privy on his own or go a day without bursting into tears?”

“The difference is that in your case, you were the one who was abused.  In my case, I am the one who made the mistakes. You deserved love and compassion.  I am still not sure what I deserve,” Fingon answered. “Certainly not compassion for what I did.”

“Did you listen to anything I told you I did?” Glorfindel asked incredulously, dropping his spoon. “I told my husband of ages that I was ‘stuck with him.’ I forced him to go along with me taking another man into our bed even when I knew that Erestor did not share the same feelings for Faelion as I. I emotionally neglected and abused him, driving him further and further into the use of his drugs. And then as you should know well, I left him for dead, glad of the excuse to finally be able to get on with my life. Káno, what in fuck are you even talking about? You think failing to tell us you are in line for a throne rates above that?”

“I mean… when you list it all out like that…”  Fingon took his bowl to the wash basin. “At least you have been honest about everything.  With all you did, you were honest about your feelings at the time.”

“So could we both agree to stop making it into a contest? Like we had to do before when we would all dredge up our faults and beat ourselves over the head with them? We are none of us unstained; this is not news. I would like it if we could just...stop it. Please? Can you try, if only for me?”

Very cautiously, Fingon nodded.  “I wish I had told you sooner so that none of this ever happened.  Then again, this was bound to happen sometime,” he said as he looked at his bandaged hand.

“Kiss me,” Glorfindel demanded. “Forget the hand, and the troubles. Forget everything but you, and I, and Erestor. And kiss me.”

Fingon seemed able to comply with this request more easily. The exchange lingered, and was filled with emotion.

“I cannot make it all go away with a wave of my hand. I cannot even make this day be easy for you. But I can ask you to remember this, when next you feel troubled. For I love you, and always will.”

“I love you, too,” answered Fingon.  “Always and forever.” He captured Glorfindel’s lips for another kiss before they parted for the day with a promise of a reunion that evening.

####  Afternoon Day 10 

“This looks interesting,” Erestor observed as he appeared to refill the pitcher of tea that Maedhros and Gildor consumed at such an impressive rate. His eyes fell on what seemed to be dainty little treats of a very desirable and yummy nature that his husband was producing. This caused him to feel understandably hopeful.

“It does indeed,” Glorfindel laughed. “You can have one of those but...I hoped I could have your indulgence. After all that has transpired I am trying to be extra nice to Káno--this is all for him. Extra nice in a way that does not involve the bedroom or the activities one might expect to unfold in that destination. Just...something neutral that he would really like. So I thought of food, about which he is rather choosy. He told me about some outings you and he had, with food and a blindfold at...it sounded like something that might have a positive outcome? Help him to feel wanted, and special? I am trying.”

“In that case I will defer. You did mean just the two of you, correct? I feel it might be best if I left you two alone, if that was not already your intention. You and he have had far fewer opportunities for such encounters. I had him to myself for...well, you know.”

“I do,” Glorfindel said quietly. “I try so hard not to still feel like crap about that but it never quite leaves me.”

Erestor came near to lean against him, making a point of keeping his hands away from the food lest he somehow curse it. “I think it goes along with making mistakes,” he admitted. “Maybe it is good, that we do not forget entirely. Otherwise maybe we would not keep the lesson in mind.”

“Perhaps you are right, but…” his expression softened into puddles as he gazed at Erestor. “Do you ever struggle with feeling like you would give a great deal for it never to have happened, but you cannot change the past?”

Hurriedly Erestor embraced him. “I do know that Fin, very well. Which is why I promised you that you were forgiven. You were and are. Just as I hope you granted me the same. And...Káno too.”

“I know,” Glorfindel now knuckled at his eyes as he released Erestor. “That is part of why I have felt so...I owe him a debt, too, Ress. I know that. I also know what it cost him to bring me here. I owe him everything; he could have kept you from me and then what would either of us have said? But I think on this mess, and I feel so angry!--and not understanding why he had to make such a stupid choice and...dammit.”

“Shh-hhhhh,” Erestor said, gathering his mate back into his arms. “Try not to be frustrated. There is more going on than you see. Of that I feel fairly certain.”

“What do you mean?” Glorfindel asked, murmuring into the comfort of the taller shoulder. He thought he had seen quite a lot, thank you very much.

“Well, as someone who claims an expert title at hiding and not revealing past secrets, I know what it is like to carry the weight of those doubts, fears and things I had convinced myself were shameful. Things I utterly believed that if anyone else knew they would leave me. I am starting to see how stupid that was, but when you are in that place, believing it…” Erestor shook his head in sorrow. “I feel convinced Fingon has that going on, or we would not be having the present discussion. I have heard enough from Mae to realize that whatever is going on, it is extensive, lifelong and frightens the shit out of him. If any of that was different, we would all be out there sharing life stories and laughing about them.”

“Well, point taken there.” Glorfindel heaved a sigh.

“He has all of my love and sympathy, because I wish it was me instead of him. I, too, never realized how many problems plague him, because in the beginning I was like you. Destroyed, until he raised me up and loved me unconditionally. I happen to know how tall of an order that is.” Erestor smiled crookedly. “Erestor is nothing if not a renowned pain in the ass.”

“I like your pain in my ass,” Glorfindel countered, not wanting to have to engage in the actual topic but knowing he must.

“Mmm and I like being that pain, but our sex life is not what is under discussion just now.” He tilted his dark head to kiss the golden hair. “So why not tell me what it is you envision, and I will see if I can assist you in some capacity that does not involve cooking?”

“Alright,” Glorfindel smiled, gesturing to the ceiling. “Pretty simple. Some room in this house, far enough away from the usual haunts that we could converse privately, where Fingon would not be appalled with the cleanliness or the decor and could enjoy eating a meal.”

Thinking for a moment, Erestor smiled. “This could help me as well,” he mused. “Can I involve Gildor, who is better at this sort of thing than I am? It would let me be around him and keep him busy. You know how much he likes to...fuss.”

Glorfindel winced, but only a little. “Can you promise me he can help keep this a surprise? The last thing I need is some horridly inappropriate comment just when Fingon gets home that blows all this effort.”

Erestor bit his lip and then grinned. “No, but I can get Maedhros to make that happen. He has special powers over Gildor.”

“Someone has to,” muttered Glorfindel, shaking his head. “I never did.”

“Now now. None of that. This is going to be a very nice evening, I can feel it. Back to work with you.” A firm swat was delivered that managed to perfectly cup half of Glorfindel’s ass. 

“Anything you say, if I get some more of those later,” Glorfindel mentioned hopefully.

“We shall see how good of a boy you are,” Erestor whispered mischievously, nipping his ear. “Back to work with you.”

\----

“Excuse me.”

Fingon looked up.  He was working at the front desk, for three of the five people assigned to be working the morning shift never showed up.  Upon investigation, Fingon found that all three had submitted requests for absence during his week off, and must have assumed that their requests would be fulfilled.  Consequently, it was noontime, and Fingon only had one other person working with him at the moment. It was a first-year intern whose name he was at yet unfamiliar with.  The young man was sitting at a desk tucked far back from the main area, and after a second look, Fingon noted he was wearing what appeared to be a long cloak despite it still being so warm that Fingon had his own sleeves rolled up to his elbows in a thoroughly unprofessional manner.  His braids were pulled back and messily gathered, tied up at the back of his neck so that they looped a few times and it likely looked as ridiculous as it felt. Before him was a youth, perhaps not even fifty years yet, holding a trio of scrolls. “How can I help you?” Fingon asked.

“I came today to enroll, but when I went to do so, there was no one in the office.  I went to another office that I was directed to, but no one was there, either. I was told that I might be able to see someone who could help me choose my classes, so I went to that building, but they said I needed enrollment approval first, so I went back to the offices, and there was still no one there.  I was given the name of their supervisor, so I went there, but the room was not the right room, and when I got back, I was told that the original person I was looking for had just come back, but was now out to lunch. I got tired of walking back and forth, and I only came over for the day to do this, so I need to be back at the docks in three hours.  I saw the sign for the library, and librarians know everything, so I thought you could help.”

“So you want to enroll today?” asked Fingon.  He earned a nod. “I assume those are your papers from the schools you went to previously or the tutors you had?”  Another nod. “I am going to write down all of the names of the people who can help you with what you need, and give that to you, but I am going to have… someone show you where those places are.”  Fingon looked over his shoulder and cleared his throat. The intern looked up slowly. “Unless you are otherwise engaged with something of great importance, I would appreciate your assistance with this matter?”

“What matter?”  The intern stood and came closer.  He had his fingers curled on either side of the cloak and pulled it close.

Fingon wrote a few more things onto the sheet of paper.  It was difficult for him to do, for his injured hand was cradled on his lap and he had to write very slowly with his good hand to keep the paper from sliding away.  “I need you to take this gentleman to admissions. Do not stop in the line; go directly in to see the supervisor. I would go myself, but someone needs to stay at this desk.  I have a note written on this sheet that you should give them,” Fingon said, now switching to the tired young ellon standing before him. “If you experience any further trouble, please stop back, and I would be more than happy to help you out.”

Only when the student and intern were gone did Fingon address one of the lead members of his student staff.  “Cessanya, please tell me you were more perceptive than that when you first started here.” Fingon was rubbing the side of his head in the hopes the migraine that threatened would quietly slip away.  His back hurt, too, no doubt from whatever odd angle he had been in when he had lifted Glorfindel out of the water. As bad as the throbbing was, the itch beneath the bandages was almost worse, and he rubbed futilely at the wounded hand. 

“I have always been more perceptive,” she told him.  “On account of all of the coffee I drink.” She held up a rather large steaming mug that was likely her third of the day.

A quick look around the library made Fingon shake his head.  “I am really getting tired of people taking advantage of my generosity.  They know I will likely allow time off, but then they just take it without checking with me!  I wish I even knew why everyone else needed off today of all days. Is there some event I am unaware of?” questioned Fingon.

“Today is the beginning of the fasting weeks for the reformists,” explained Cessanya.  “They will be gone today for prayers and tomorrow for good deeds, but they should be in the rest of the week.  Some of them will be here tomorrow, too, because coming in to work on a day off will be their good deed. They are not going to be able to eat until sundown, though, for the next three weeks, so you probably should not bring any of your baked treats until next month when the fast is over.”

“Great.  Another stupid religious holiday,” huffed Fingon.

“Inarata said she was going to come in to work for most of the day tomorrow on her day off.  That is something, at least.” Cessanya frowned. “Um… this might not be the best time, but did you get my request for a day off next week?”

“I have not been in my office yet.  I am sure it will be fine. What for?” he asked.

“Another stupid religious holiday?”  She took a step back with a deeper frown.

Fingon sighed and closed his eyes.  “Could you just bring me the stack from my office so that I can go through them before I get more surprises?”

“Of course, sir.”  Cessanya set her mug of coffee down on the desk and navigated her way to the offices as the intern entered back into the library.  The young elf he had been helping waited at the doorway, and behind that elf stood another. She had a dark look, and her arms were crossed over her chest.  She was pointedly glaring through the doorway at Fingon. 

“So, we went to the registrar’s office, but the line was really long, and they have to be back on the ship in a few hours.  They were told to just come back another day, but they need to get him registered before the next term begins, so they really only have two days.  What should I do?” asked the intern, who now had the hood of his cloak pulled up over his head, so that it hung down a little and shadowed his face.

“Did you take them to see the supervisor?” asked Fingon.  

There was a long pause.  “Did you want me to do that?”

“Yes!  I gave you--- where is the paper I gave him?”

“The paper?”

Fingon grunted and shoved back his chair.  In his haste, his elbow knocked over the mug of coffee and sent it tipping.  Quick reflexes managed to right it before it hit the desk or crashed to the floor, but the damage was done, for the dark liquid puddle began to spread out in search of documents to destroy.  Fingon pulled out his handkerchief and threw it over the coffee, hoping for the best, before he came around and went to the doorway. “Thank you for returning. I am going to have… my intern take you back to the registrar’s office.  The paper you have explains everything; please show it to anyone who stops you from seeing the supervisor. I am dreadfully sorry about this.”

“Is he going to take us to the right place this time?” demanded the elleth.  “He took us to the bursar and had us in a line to pay for tuition or acquire documents of completion.  He has not even been accepted yet! I am beginning to think we should look to the mainland for his schooling.  You are supposed to be the premier institute for language learning, but no one around here even knows how to communicate in Quenya, much less anything else!”

“I am so deeply sorry,” reiterated Fingon.  “Please accept my apology for all of your troubles today.”  He turned, expecting to find the intern, but instead, saw him still lurking at the desk.  “A-hem!” He had to clear his throat twice more for a response. “Please show these fine people to the registrar immediately.”

“The who?” asked the intern.

‘The fucking registrar, you idiot!’ was what almost burst forth from Fingon’s lips.  Instead, he took a deep breath and repeated with perfect enunciation, “The registrar.”

The intern took a hesitant step forward.  “And where are they?”

Fingon caught sight of Cessanya, returning from the office with a stack of papers.  “Cessanya, your assistance is required. Now,” said Fingon, more sharply than he would have liked.  She deposited the papers inside Fingon’s desk when she saw the disaster on top of it, and rushed to the door, skirts fluttering behind her.  “They need to reach the manager of the registrar’s office immediately. They have limited time due to the boarding of their return to the mainland,” he half-stuttered.  Fingon took a deep breath while Cessanya nodded and listened intently. “They have a note that I wrote for them, so it should be no problem. Can you do this?”

“Of course.”  Cessanya walked around Fingon and smiled to the mother and son, who both looked a little skeptical.  “Please follow me,” she said calmly with a confident motion of her hand in the direction they would travel.  “I am sorry for the delay. My counterpart is in training, and I have been here for many years. I know the buildings well.  What program are you enrolling in?” her voice trailed off as she walked them down the hallway.

Fingon shook his head.  The migraine was getting settled in for the day.  He approached the desk again to find that what looked like a lump of fabric was in his chair.  The intern had bundled his cloak around himself, barely able to peek through a slit. “Get out of my chair,” demanded Fingon.

The intern rose up, but said, “You said someone should be at this desk at all times,” before he retreated back to his own workstation.

Any further words exchanged would have been unpleasant, so Fingon worked to clean up the mess on the desk.  Two small books suffered external damage, and Fingon dried them the best he could before he set these aside to be rebound at a later date.  Other paperwork which would need to be rewritten was placed aside or thrown away depending on the nature of it. By the time he had finished, Cessanya had returned and it was nearly lunch time.  “I want to make sure you get lunch, so you should go first,” Fingon told Cessanya. She nodded and made her exit soon after. 

Only a few minutes passed before the intern came over to Fingon’s desk.  “Is it alright if I go to lunch in about ten minutes when my food gets delivered up here?”

Fingon was sure his puzzled expression was not enough to deter the intern, so he asked, “Why do you have to go right then?  Cessanya was just given permission to leave for lunch.”

“Oh, really?  Did she go already?  Maybe we can switch--”

“Can you not just wait?” asked Fingon.

“I really want to eat it when it is hot,” said the intern.

While orders for cold foods, such as salads, fruit, and sandwiches, could be placed at the dining hall any time during the day, hot food orders had to be placed just prior to someone wanting to eat.  They could still be delivered, though they typically completed them relatively quickly, which was to say… “Did you order food when you went to take those people to see the registrar?”

“I was going to anyway and it was on the way.”

Fingon gripped the arms of the chair so that he did not launch himself at the intern.  A quick glance around the library showed that most had left due to midday, and there were few witnesses, should he have chosen to shake the intern right then and there.  “I have an idea. Why not simply leave for the day when your food arrives? You will be compensated for the morning, but should take the afternoon off.”

“So I only get paid for the morning?” asked the intern.  “Hmm. Let me think…”

Fingon wanted to explain that it was not really a request, but the intern offered a noncommittal, “I guess I can do that,” before Fingon had to.

  
  


\---

Standing at the doorway of the chosen room, Gildor held a list, and Asfaloth a basket.  “We have acquired, submitted for your approval, two dozen perfect stemmed roses, in pink and violet.  One bag full of rose petals, same colors.”

“Wheeee!”  Asfaloth flung a handful up into the air, where they showered down upon everything.

“No, no, not yet,” cautioned Gildor as Asfaloth went for another handful.

“Oh… sorry.”  Asfaloth scurried around, stuffing the petals back into the bag.

“An assortment of dried fruits and nuts, covered in chocolate,” continued Gildor.

“I was told not to eat any,” Asfaloth said solemnly.

“Well, we cannot be sure if they will give you a tummy ache,” said Gildor with concern.  Asfaloth was currently crouched nearby, gathering the petals, and Gildor reached out to skritch behind one of the large ears.  Asfaloth nickered happily. “Approximately a hundred paper hearts, decorated around the edges in pink and purple.”

“The decorating was my idea,” spoke up Asfaloth as he stood up straight again.

“Several oil options, of which we will not detail for Asfaloth’s benefit--”

“Thank you,” said Asfaloth.

“--but all are edible,” Gildor said proudly, and Asfaloth groaned.  “One set of silk sheets, rubbed with lavender so that they are perfectly scented, and pillowcases with the same treatment.  I think this is going to be a very lovely romantic night for the two of you.”

“You really are amazing,” Glorfindel admired, looking around. “I can see that none of your romantic skills have diminished in the least. I hope Mae realizes what a fortunate man he is, to have such talent focused for his benefit.” They may not have worked out in the long run, but Glorfindel was not so obtuse as to have forgotten the many delights of this nature Gildor had staged for his enjoyment in their years together. Though, he was quite cognizant of one thing--Gildor ultimately did these things for his personal gratification more than with the idea of pleasing the recipient. It was a subtle distinction but one that had bothered Glorfindel to no end at the time.

“You know me.  Mister Romance.”  Gildor flashed a grin.  

Asfaloth looked a little reflective regarding the comments and said, “Does that make me Mister Hold Still Honey?”

Gildor scrunched up his nose.  “We can work on your techniques in the future.  Right now, we need to string these hearts from the ceiling or Fingon will make it home and just find decoration vomit all over.”

Smiling, Glorfindel did the only sensible thing. “Continue your transformations--I shall return to the kitchen. Thank you. Both of you.” With a half-hug for each of them, he made his way out of the already unrecognizable room.

\---

“Sir?”

The day had dragged on, and it seemed even more grueling with two people doing the work of six through the afternoon.  Cessanya had just returned through the outside doors with a book plucked from the return, and a sour look on her face.

“What is wrong?” asked Fingon.

Cessanya presented the book to him.  There were chew marks on the corners.  “The drop box is full of droppings, which seems ironic in a way, and two mice ran out when I opened it.”

“Oh, you have to be kidding.”  Fingon took the key that Cessanya held out to him and went back the way she had come.  There were two points of entry for the library. One was from the hallways that connected it to the school, and the other was to the outdoors where most of the members of the public entered.  This was also where the outdoor book return was kept, and just as Cessanya had described, it contained evidence of rodent residence, including a nest in the corner. “At least that is all there is,” muttered Fingon to himself as he went to retrieve a broom and a rag to clean up the mess, and a glove to protect his bandages.  Once he was satisfied with the condition of it, he returned inside to wash his other hand and sit down again, ready for the shift to be over and to return home for the day.

“Sir?”

Fingon looked up to see Cessanya with a nervous look.  “Now what?” he asked wearily.

“I do not think anyone else is coming in for the evening, and I do not know if you wish me to stay later.”

Fingon straightened up in his chair.  “Why would there be no one else coming in?”

“I do not want you to think I was spying, but I put the requests in order for you when you went to lunch.”  Cessanya opened the desk and pulled out the slips. “Everyone who works at night is either normally off today or requested time off.”

With a little noise of distress, Fingon took the pile and looked through them for confirmation.  The couriers stopped delivering messages in the late afternoon, and with his headache, Fingon doubted he could make the attempt to contact either of his spouses.  “Shit,” he muttered.

“I can stay for another hour or two,” offered Cessanya.  “I just need enough time tonight to study for my mathematics tests tomorrow.”

“I know I do not allow it normally, but if you do stay, you could study while you are here.  The evening shifts are typically much quieter than the daytime,” offered Fingon.

Cessanya nodded.  “I can wait, though.  I like to make sure that I am concentrating on work while I am here.”

“At least someone does,” said Fingon as the intern walked up to the front with not one but two trays from the dining hall.  “Were you eating in here?” Fingon asked when the intern came up to the front desk. 

“Yes, the dining hall was really crowded, so I came back up here,” said the intern.

“That had to be hours ago,” noted Fingon.

“Oh. Yes.”  This was apparently invitation for a story, for the intern stacked both trays together and set them on the top of a low bookshelf before he proceeded.  “When I ordered my food, I told them I wanted the field greens blend, but I did not want spinach in it, just the other greens.”

“So you did not actually want the blend.  You just wanted-- wait, did you get a salad?” asked Fingon, voice giving away his annoyance.

The intern either ignored or was ignorant of this fact.  “No, I had crab cakes on a bed of field greens. But they put spinach in the blend!  So I went down and I told them, no, this was wrong. And they offered to credit me for next time, but I told them, no, I wanted what I ordered, and I wanted it brought up to me.”

“And how did that work for you?” wondered Fingon.

“They did it,” said the intern happily.  “It was twenty-four silver pieces for that order.  I expected them to get it right.” He pulled the cloak tighter around himself.

“Twenty-four silver?”  Fingon shook his head. “The prices have certainly gone up in the dining hall from the last time I was there.”

The intern shrugged.  “It was a special order.  I had them make them with lobster and extra crab.  I am going to set these in the hall, and then I am going to wipe down the table I was using.  It got sticky from the ginger dressing.” 

It was only after the intern left the library that Fingon said to Cessanya, “My entire bill for the week is barely twenty silver when I eat lunch in town.”

“It was one crab cake in each order,” Cessanya informed him.  She displayed the size with her hands. 

“I am clearly paying interns too much,” mumbled Fingon before the intern came back in, took a rag from behind the desk, and went back out into the library.

“What if you had him work the night shift?” asked Cessanya.  “He did not work this afternoon, and he is here.”

“You want me to place the library in his care?” Fingon shook his head.  “I need to have a talk with Erestor and Nasarion and find out which of them hired him.”

“You hired him,” Cessanya replied.  “I helped you with the interview.”

“Oh, good, then I am not going to upset anyone when I fire him.”  Fingon tilted his head when Cessanya’s eyes widened. “What? You have seen his incompetence today.”

“I mean… yes, but you have also been having a bad day,” she dared say.  “At least he showed up for work. He had a request in, but you never granted it.”

“How can he have a request in?  If he is a reformist, he should be fasting, and he just ate not one but two meals,” Fingon argued.

Cessanya shrugged.  “Sometimes people just want the holiday off even if they do not adhere to it.  Maybe he wanted to go to the parade.”

“Master Erestor?”  The intern, cradling his right wrist in his left hand, came to the desk, cloak trailing behind him.

Both Fingon and Cessanya exchanged a look of confusion.  “Master Erestor is not here today.”

“I thought… oh.”  The intern scrutinized Fingon.  “Which one are you?”

Fingon lifted one brow.  “You do not know my name,” he said in monotone.  He gave another sideways glance at Cessanya, who covertly presented him with a look that said ‘I do not think you know his name either’, before she opened a large mathematics tome.

“Sorry,” was all the intern offered about that.  “Well, so, I just hurt my hand when I was wiping the table.  What should I do?”

“Let me see,” insisted Fingon.  His own injured hand ached with sympathetic pain, and he sighed in knowing he had not brought anything to dull the residual discomfort from the night before, nor for the pounding in his head that made all of the light in the room seem far too bright, and everyone’s words to sound like shouting.  The injury was displayed to him, and Fingon had to squint to make out a slight red mark on the intern’s wrist. “You are going to have to go to the watchman and fill out a report of injury,” Fingon said. “Exactly what did you do?”

“Well, I was cleaning off the surface, and then I wanted the whole table to look nice, and so I was cleaning the sides, and I was going very fast, and I tripped on my cloak and hit my hand.  I hurts so bad,” whined the intern.

Fingon rubbed his face.  “Go see the watchman. He probably has something you can put on it.”

“This is going to be a long night,” remarked Cessanya once she and Fingon were alone again at the front desk. 

  
  


####  Evening Day 10

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck Fuck Fuck FUUUUUUUUUUCK!” Glorfindel hollered at the top of his lungs into the empty room where he had convinced himself repeatedly over the past few hours to wait, to be patient, to remain calm. “I want to smash everything here, but that would only waste food and possibly catch the house on fire,” he talked to himself at full volume.

As predicted, not very long afterward he heard the sounds of multiple footsteps on their way down the wooden stairs and thudding through the great room and down along the hallway until a soft knock came at the door. “Fin??” 

“Come fucking IN,” Glorfindel said quite clearly, not moving from his chair.

Maedhros was first in the room, followed by Erestor and Gildor.

“Why are you alone?” Mae asked carefully.

“Because my husband, and I do not mean the one standing next to you, never showed up. At least, I believe I am safe in assuming he never came home, because there are only about a dozen love notes and decorations instructing him everywhere from the mailbox to the third floor staircase where to go.”

“Shit,” Erestor muttered under his breath, having kept company with Maedhros and Gildor just so that the sight of them when Fingon came home could not prove to be a distraction. “Here I thought you two were up here having a wonderful meal.”

“Yes, shit. And know what? You all helped me work on this so given that it is a failure, I think we should not have the treats go to waste just because…” he pressed his lips together before he could say something about Fingon he might later regret. “Please bring chairs from wherever; the four of us can at least snack on what is here.”

“But we already ate,” Erestor said, even as he could not but help eye the spread with envy.

“Well, I am hungry!” Gildor gushed, occupying the chair meant for Fingon.

Maedhros looked to Erestor, Glorfindel and back again. “I think we should all enjoy some. Food can be made a second time and candles can be re-lit,” he offered softly, at which point Erestor’s resistance seemed to fold.

“Dibs on the chocolate,” Gildor shrugged; dexterous fingers plucked two of the little chocolate dipped shortcakes. Out of regard for Maedhros, Glorfindel moved the untouched wine away, leaving it on the floor underneath his chair. He sighed, and nibbled despondently on an herbed cream cheese toast.

They cleaned up and took the used dishes and platters downstairs with them, snuffing the candles diligently but otherwise leaving the room as-was. Glorfindel quietly went around removing the notes that had been left for Fingon, or at least the ones inside. The ones at the mailbox, and the front door were left alone. Tired and not feeling sociable, he wished their housemates good night, thanking them once again for their efforts. “Come to bed with me?” he pleaded with Erestor. 

A glance from Gildor to Erestor caused the blond to say “Go. Go with him, Erri. I can take care of this; we are almost done anyway.”

“Thank you,” he said to Gildor, meaning every word of it. He put his arm around a Glorfindel that was clearly deeply upset and trying to avoid making a scene. Once up the stairs and in their room, they undressed and closed the door. There was no discussion, but Glorfindel gratefully entered the welcome warmth of Erestor’s arms and fell asleep almost immediately.

####  Late Night Day 10

“I want to thank you for staying tonight,” Fingon told Cessanya as they were shutting down the library, locking up the private rooms, and collecting up the materials left on tables and carts.

“You are welcome.  Do you want me to come in tomorrow?” she asked.

“I think things will be different tomorrow,” Fingon answered.  “Nasarion will be here, and that alone will help immensely. Thank you for the offer,” he said as the doors to the hallway, which had been closed and locked, now opened.  Fingon blinked in surprise to see the headmaster enter. “Good evening, sir,” said Fingon with a slight bow. “I did not expect to encounter you so late. Is anything the matter?”

“I hope not.”  The headmaster looked at Cessanya.  “Are you on your way out?” he asked.  Cessanya looked at Fingon, who gave a nod.  Cessanya curtseyed to the headmaster, and left through the doors to the hallway before the headmaster locked them.  Fingon offered a seat to the headmaster, but the ellon shook his head and instead perused the new book display while Fingon finished the closing tasks.  When Fingon returned, the headmaster motioned that Fingon should take a seat, and he did. “Your name has been mentioned more often today than I can recall at any time in the past.”  

“I cannot imagine it to be positive, or a late night call would not have been merited,” Fingon assumed.

“I just need to know what is going on in here, Findekáno.  The bursar was annoyed that you were sending your employees around to direct people to the wrong places, and registrar thinks you are trying to circumvent their processes for admissions, and the kitchen staff is threatening to stop interdepartmental deliveries if they are going to have terms dictated to them.”

The throbbing in his head became worse.  “I have an explanation for all of that,” Fingon assured the headmaster.  “Much of it is due to a student staff member who exhibited such great incompetence today that I believe I will be dismissing him in the near future.”

“It certainly sounds as if you are having some issues with staff management, not unlike those Quennar experienced a few years ago,” said the headmaster.  “My nephew was telling me that you had a number of staff who did not report to work today. I am confused as to why you would dismiss him from his work in the afternoon with that being the case.”

Suddenly, the hiring of the intern whose name Fingon could not recall flooded back, and he remember fleetingly the conversation with the headmaster about employing his nephew in the library for a few years.  “It was complicated,” Fingon answered.

“I have ample time.  Walk me through the day from beginning to end so that we can find solutions so that this does not occur in the future,” suggested the headmaster, who still loomed over Fingon as he stood before him.

For over two hours, Fingon endured the scrutiny of the headmaster as he weaved a tale that would not incriminate the intern, nor lead to thoughts of Fingon being incompetent.  When he left, he found Cessanya sitting on a bench outside. “He did not fire you, did he?” she asked with concern.

Fingon shook his head.  “You should be home,” he said to her as he adjusted his satchel.

“You never ate lunch,” accused Cessanya.  “One of the assistants for the registrar was leaving when I did, and she told me that you were intercepted by that family that was registering and they had a lot of questions for you, and no one tried to get them away from you, and you talked to them the whole time.  We never had a chance to eat supper. I am going to get something from one of the alley cafes. Do you want to join us?”

“Us?”  Fingon looked around.

Cessanya stood up.  “The rest of the family.”  She tucked her book into a pack that she hoisted onto her back.  “Nasarion, Inarata, and whomever else is there. Do you like cabbage rolls?”

“I cannot remember the last time I had a cabbage roll.  My husband hates them,” said Fingon.

“I thought Erestor likes cabbage,” said Cessanya.

Fingon sighed.  With so many secrets being kept, it was hard to recall who knew what anymore.  “My other husband,” he said quietly.

“Oh, the blond one,” Cessanya said.  “He seems really nice.”

“Yes, Glorfindel.  He hates cabbage.” Fingon shoved his uninjured hand into his pocket.  “He also hates it when I break my promises, and I promised to be home on time tonight.”

“Oh, dear.”  Cessanya pointed down the road.  “We usually go right over there. You did not bring a horse today, so I think you mean to walk back home.  You should eat something before you do. No one wants to find out that tomorrow you were found passed out along the road trying to walk home.”

“I would be fine,” he said, but already Cessanya had her arm linked with his and was leading him along.

“You can have a little something before you go home.  Maybe you can find someone there who is supposed to be off tomorrow who can come in to work,” suggested Cessanya.

This seemed a logical idea, and after Fingon made an attempt to reach out to his spouses (and felt he was unable to reach them, his headache having worsened), he went with Cessanya, in part because it was on his way home anyhow.  They ducked between two tall buildings, and at the back, several doors were open. At some of them, workers were bringing out buckets of scraps to a pen of hogs or pouring undrunk wine into gutters. 

Cessanya led Fingon up one of the stairways to an open door.  A greenish light glowed from within, and they entered through the back door of a kitchen to a well-known dining establishment.  Against walls in the back were several tables, where performers, some still in costume, low level workers from the school who had worked late, students, and travelers who had sought out the lesser-known places gathered at these tables, crushed together on benches.  Nasarion, upon seeing Cessanya and Fingon, lifted and arm in greeting, and moved everyone around at the table to accommodate them. 

An older ellon, older than Fingon, came slowly to the table.  “Chicken, pork, or vegetable?” he asked Cessanya. 

“Chicken,” she said, and she held up two fingers.  

The ellon looked at Fingon.  The same question was posed. “Chicken, pork, or vegetable?”

“Vegetable,” answered Fingon with slight uncertainty.

“How many?” he was prodded.

“Uh… two?”  

The ellon left, and as Fingon slid into the seat at the head of the table that Nasarion vacated, a young elleth came to the table and set a couple of open wine bottles in the center.  All of them were half empty or less, of varying types. Once the group was alone, Cessanya announced to the others, “Master Fingon had a bad day.”

Immediately, the others began to offer their sympathy, and Fingon awkwardly nodded and shrugged.  “Master Fingon may have brought some of it upon himself,” he told them. 

“Maybe we can help?” suggested Inarata.  “What happened?”

Fingon gave a very abbreviated version of the day’s events, rubbing his head as he did so.  The room was smoky and dim, illuminated by the greenish crystals that gave off light. Food was brought as he was on to selective events from the past few days.  “I have been a terrible husband,” he finally stated.

“None of us were quite sure if you and Master Erestor were married or not,” Ilquaren admitted.  

Fingon pointed to one of the bottles on the table.  “Are these fair game?” he asked.

Nasarion pushed the nearest one closer to his supervisor.  “You can have whatever you want. The wine is free; it is whatever is left over at the end of the night, because they cannot save it until tomorrow.”

“And what of the food?” asked Fingon as he picked up a bottle.  “How is that handled?”

“They make cabbage rolls from the leftovers,” said Inarata.  “You pay whatever you want to give them. They would just give the rest to the pigs anyhow.”

Fingon frowned before he took a drink right from the bottle.  “They serve pork, which they feed to the hogs.”

“This is why I do not eat pork,” Inarata said.  “When did you and Master Erestor have your wedding?”

“I need more wine for this.”  Fingon drank the rest of the bottle before he selected another.  “Master Erestor is not my only husband.”

“How many do you have?” asked Nasarion curiously.

“Just two,” answered Fingon.

“The blond one,” spoke up Cessanya.

Harmacullo, a student who worked not in the library, but in the archives and served as a liaison between the two areas, swallowed what he was eating and asked, “Oh, you mean Glorfindel?  I thought he was married to Erestor. When I was going through some documents about a place called Imladris, I found a lot of stuff about the two of them together.”

“Oh, this all makes sense now!” burst out Nasarion.  “He said ‘I will see you at home’ once and you said something about seeing him there, but, sure, you both called it home.”

“You have a very nice house,” Inarata said.  

Nasarion blinked.  “You have been to their house?”

Inarata nodded.  “I knew they were all married,” she said matter-of-factly.

“How?”  This question came from several, including Fingon.

“I asked Master Erestor.”

“Oh.”  Fingon leaned back in his chair.  “I was supposed to be back on time tonight.”

“Are you ever home on time?” asked Ilquaren.

“I tried.”  Fingon sighed as food was placed before himself and Cessanya.  “I am going to leave as soon as I eat.” He looked down at his plate, which also had a scoop of rice on it.  The food looked good, but unappealing to his stomach. Despite this, he picked up a fork and knife and began to eat.  “I have to make sure I am back to the library right away in the morning. There are so many people who are off.”

“I would love to come in and help you!” said Inarata.  She nudged Ilquaren, and he agreed as well.

“I think Master Quennar would let me lend a hand, if that would help,” offered Harmacullo.  “I told him I wanted to get some experience in the library as well, and he said we could ask you about that.  Even if I was just there to help put things back on the shelves, I think he would let me. We are usually not so busy the last day of the week.”

“It is also only a partial day,” said Cessanya.  “No evening hours.”

Seeing no reason to decline, Fingon nodded.  “Thank you. That would be very nice if you were able to do that tomorrow.”  He finished his supper and fished from his pocket more than enough to pay for his meal and those of his workers (which was less than twenty silver total).  On his way out, he handed this plus a little extra to the ellon who had served them, and left to face the consequences of the day at home.

As soon as he was gone, everyone turned to Inarata.  “Details. Everything,” said Nasarion. “The house. The relationship.”  He paused.

“She is not going to know that,” said Ilquaren.

Still, the next thing Nasarion asked for was, “How.  Like, the sex,” he clarified.

“We all knew what you meant,” Cessanya said as she shook her head and pulled out her mathematics book.  “I want to know more about Imladris,” she said, giving Harmacullo a curious look.

The five of them stayed long past the other back alley diners, and left only when the owner told them they had to leave or help to clean the kitchen.  

Meanwhile, Fingon was finally home.  On the mailbox, he saw a bow. Ready to drop from exhaustion and the pain in his head, he pulled the bow off the mailbox and opened it.  Inside, he found a simple note with a riddle, and this led him to the door of the shed. He opened it, and a bucket lowered. Inside, another note, and this one took him to the doors that led into the great room.  The room was dark, and after searching for some minutes, Fingon found nothing that would lead him to another part of the house. He dropped down on a chair, only to hear someone hiss behind him. He looked up to see Asfaloth standing in the doorway.

“You did not hear this from me,” whispered the horse, in his elven form, and wearing a long white tasseled nightshirt and a matching nightcap, “but you might want to look into the last bedroom on the right at the end of the hallway.”

Fingon stood up and followed Asfaloth into the residential wing of the first floor.  Past Asfaloth’s room and the one Fingon had slept in for a few nights he went, eventually ending up at a room where the door was ajar.  Within, he found it decorated with flowers, hearts, and little messages written in Glorfindel’s hand. A small table had been brought into the room, and it had once held a meal, the only evidence of this now being the stains on the cloth.  Fingon sat down on the edge of the rose petal covered bed and sighed. “I just manage to fuck everything up.”

“That was not why I showed you this,” said Asfaloth, standing in the doorway now.  “I know that you did not mean to return home so late. Whether you lost track of time or--”

“I almost got fired,” said Fingon.  “The headmaster actually asked me if I felt I could no longer perform my duties to the best of my abilities.”

“Did you kick him?” asked Asfaloth.  “I knew a mare once who was asked something like that, and her answer was kicking her owner.  Of course, the rumor was she ended up turned into glue--”

“I did not kick him,” said Fingon.  “I just had a bad day, and I wanted to be here, and now that I know what was going on, I really wish I had been.  Maybe I should have quit tonight.”

“Oh, Fingon.”  Asfaloth sat down on the edge of the bed and patted Fingon’s head.  “You do know we had little use for martyrs after the First Age, right?”

Fingon slowly turned his head, which was still being patted, and looked up at Asfaloth.  “Where did you pick that up?”

“What?  It is horse sense.  I am smart, you know,” huffed Asfaloth.  “Now I am going to give you more advice. You should follow it.  I think you probably intended to curl up on a pile of smelly, old sheets and cry yourself to sleep.  I heard movement upstairs before you arrived. I have a feeling Glorfindel is still awake. You should go up, kiss him, apologize even though it is not your fault, and go to bed with your beloved husbands.”

Fingon chewed on his bottom lip before he finally nodded.  “Thank you, Asfaloth. You are a true friend,” he said as he stood up.

“Really?”  Asfaloth knocked his knuckles together.  “A friend? I thought you hated me.”

“What?  No…” Fingon sat back down again.  “Why do you think I hate you?”

“Because you frown when I am around.”

Now Fingon tilted his head to the side.  “Asfaloth, I smile very little at anyone.  It has nothing to do with you personally. Sometimes I do not quite follow your reasoning, but I do not hate you.”

“Oh.  Well, that is good to know.  You should smile more!” suggested Asfaloth.

No smile was offered, but Fingon did give an explanation.  “I sustained a lot of falls when I was a competitive athlete.  I broke my jaw once when I was very young, and it was wired to allow it to heal.  I do not think it was tended to correctly. At one point it was rebroken by a healer because it was not mending the right way and it has never been the same since.  Now when I try to smile, it hurts most of the time, so I try not to.”

Asfaloth suddenly squished Fingon in a hug.  “You can not smile at me as much as you want then,” he said honestly.  When he released Fingon, he reached over and pushed up at the corners of Fingon’s mouth.  “Does this hurt then?” he asked.

“No,” Fingon said, giving Asfaloth an odd look.  “Just when I use the muscles.” He realized he had spoken too soon.

  
“I can help you smile, then!” And Asfaloth pushed both sides of Fingon’s mouth up.  “There you go!”

“Thank you.  I do not think that will be practical,” said Fingon.  He patted Asfaloth’s knee. “Thank you, though.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Asfaloth said seriously.

“I will.”  The noises above had ceased, and Fingon stood again.  “I want to get up there.”

“Good.  Good answer.”  Asfaloth ushered Fingon out of the room.  “Good luck!”

Fingon crept up the steps, mindful that everyone upstairs might be asleep, and that the noise could just be the dog.  When he reached the master bedroom, he found Glorfindel sitting on a chair pulling a boot on. Their eyes met, and relief washed over Glorfindel.  “I was about to come out there looking for you,” Glorfindel admitted. He yanked off the boot as Fingon closed the door and came forward. There was a single candle lit on the desk, casting shadows about the room.  “I thought you forgot, and when you never arrived, I thought something terrible happened.”

“I did not forget, but something terrible did happen.  I did not make it home as I had promised.” Fingon touched Glorfindel’s forearms, and then pulled him close.  “I am not going to give you all the reasons why now, but I am sorry, and I hope that you can eventually forgive me.”  He bowed his head. “Thank you, for your concern, and thank you for what you did. I found a few of the notes, and I saw the room.”

“Did Asfaloth tell you?” asked Glorfindel dryly.

“He has all the best intentions,” replied Fingon.  “I am so very sorry it did not work out tonight. I could tell you put a lot of work into it.”  Fingon wanted to bend his head to kiss Glorfindel, but hesitated.

Glorfindel saw, and his eyes pooled with tears. “I feel like I am losing you,” he admitted. “Are you angry with me, that you will not even kiss me?”

“Goodness, no!” exclaimed Fingon, who then lowered his voice when he realized that Erestor was still sleeping in the bed.  “I thought you were angry with me!” He took Glorfindel’s words as an invitation and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. It was so warm and familiar that he took the initiative to attempt another kiss, this one with far more passion than the first.

His anger forgotten, Glorfindel returned the affection in a rising pitch of emotion. Relief, fear, desire and a sense of being almost hopelessly lost.  _ I am but I am scared more than I am mad! I will do anything for you, but I do not know what to do. I cannot lose you, Káno. We, cannot lose you.  _

Fingon embraced Glorfindel tightly and nuzzled his neck.  “I was nearly fired today. I should have been… I should still be worried about that.  About losing my job, that is. Compared to the thought of losing you… or Erestor… I do not want that.  I was so happy that night we bonded, when we exchanged those beautiful rings you had the forethought to have made.  I am just so tired and confused, and sick with worry. I still fear that I might lose  _ you _ .”

“No! Only if death takes me. Káno, why do we keep talking about this? I made vows to you. Not idle assurances, or hints of my affection. I am sworn to you before Eru, and--” His head hung suddenly in shame. “Though why would you believe in my faithfulness, after what I did to Erestor? Is that it? Is that why you keep saying this, because I have already proven my inconstancy? I have begged to be forgiven, and would do anything to erase my sin. But I cannot; I can only prove by my actions that it was a terrible mistake, never to be repeated.”

“I believe you and I know that Erestor has forgiven you.  You did no wrong to me in those days, so there is nothing to forgive.  But that is not why I say these things; I say them because of what I am putting this family through.  Words are useless, though; I feel like I talk in circles, and as you have said, it will take time and actions, and I have yet to show any of that.”  Fingon looked to the bed. “We are both weary, and while I do not deserve it, I would like to spend the night with you and Erestor here, if you will allow that.”

“Allow it? It was my greatest fear that you would not come home.” In the dark, Glorfindel had placed his hand over his mouth, out of fear he was about to lose all control over his emotions. Struggling with all his might, he breathed in and out slowly, mastering himself. He tried to keep in mind how desperately tired his husband seemed, and how equally...lost. “Please come to bed. Take the middle, and just allow me to hold you close. That is all I ask.”

Slowly, Fingon answered by stripping his clothing off and into a heap on the floor.  His braids were still swept back into the messy bundle, which he loosened so that he could sleep better.  He used the chamber pot before he carried the candle from the desk to the bedside, and left it there while he climbed into bed and settled on his side in anticipation of being joined by Glorfindel.

The blond slid in next to him, looking for ways to mold himself against Fingon’s body. Fingon rolled onto his back invitingly.  Glorfindel settled on an arm over a chest, and a leg wrapped over both of his lover’s legs, as if to guarantee he could go nowhere. Finally Fingon raised up an arm to offer a place for his head, into which Glorfindel wriggled without hesitation, snuggling happily against the strong chest. He held on tightly, until worry and sleep relaxed his hold.

Sleep was only too easy for Fingon, not due to a lack of anxiety, but due to being so utterly spent on the day’s events he had wasted all energy.  What Asfaloth had said were the last words he dwelled upon before he succumbed to slumber.


	11. Day 11

####  Morning Day 11

  
  


“Ress?” 

Fingon had just left for work, and Glorfindel had wakened to the soft kiss on his brow. He kept silent throughout, pretending to still be asleep, which was not difficult considering how few hours had passed between the time Fingon arrived and when he left again. The nearly silent footsteps padded away from him, and the door opened and closed with the faintest click of the latch. And that was what made up his mind.

“Ress, sweetheart? Please wake. I cannot keep pretending. I need to talk to you.”

A stirring of the warm body next to him concluded with Erestor’s arm reaching for him and drawing them together. “Sounds serious,” the dark one said sleepily.

Glorfindel sighed. “It is.”

“Well, I am listening. So is little Eres. Though I do not think he is going to remain little for long.”

“I can live with that. Little and big Eres have always been two of my favorite things in the wide world,” Glorfindel told his mate.

“I think I know what this is about,” Erestor murmured. “I wondered when you would bring it up.”

“You do?”

“We never finished.”

“We never finished what?” Glorfindel asked, puzzled.

“The documents from that horrid place. There was still more to read before everything sort of erupted, and I wondered when someone would recall that it has not yet occurred.”

“Oh...true. There is that. Yes, I suppose we--how do you feel about that? You do not wish to finish with it?”

Erestor shrugged. “I have no opinion, honestly. I think I should hear it out just so that I can say it was thoroughly aired, but I cannot imagine that it is other than whatever sexually scandalous thing was done to my mind to make me think breasts and a vagina surpassed penises and assholes. We started it, though, so might as well finish it.”

“I do not know if I told you how incredibly proud I am of you,” Glorfindel praised. “Everyone, myself included, feared learning these things would crush your spirit and instead you are coping very well. I am unsure you are actually coping at all; the word implies a measure of difficulty one is enduring and...you do not even seem fazed.”

Erestor chuckled. “I am a little proud of me, too. Surprised, is maybe the word. I have thought about what is the matter with me. Erm, what is right with me, might be the better choice of words. It is all of you. I believe that I am not alone in a way that, forgive me, I have never felt before. I finally know there is nothing that would turn you or Káno from me and...I feel like that is a rushing torrent of strength. It is hard to explain, but I know that is it. Even Gildor and Mae...I feel like with all of you behind me, I cannot fail. I hope that does not sound as arrogant as I fear it does. It is not meant as such. These past days...I have felt joy, Fin. Me, feeling joyful. Sometimes I feel giddy because I truly cannot remember ever having these emotions.” He held Glorfindel tightly out of love, and felt his erection pulse between them.

“Take me?” Glorfindel asked, wanting nothing more at the moment than to feel Erestor possessing his body.

“Alright,” the rosy lips smiled as his hand fished around in that clinking chemistry set known as Glorfindel’s pillowcase. “But I now realize that the documents were not what you wanted to discuss. And, be a dear--wiggle out of your sleeping pants, will you?”

Complying quickly, Glorfindel drew up his knees to allow Erestor easy access. A sharp inhalation accompanied the first touch of oiled fingers. “No, it was not,” the blond answered with a grunt of enjoyment to feel more fingers and more oil touching him. “Though maybe there are two things,” he admitted.

“And those would be?” Erestor asked, partially sitting up in order to prepare his husband. 

“The one that matters least on the grand scheme of things is...a few days ago Fingon touched me around my...my other place. My vagina,” he said, annoyed that the word still was so hard to speak aloud. “And...I liked it. Nothing hurt. He just slid a finger around near the opening and…” Glorfindel blushed, feeling suddenly very self-conscious.

“You would like it if I would do the same, but you are embarrassed to discuss your body?” Erestor asked softly, guessing at what he was hearing--and not hearing.

Glorfindel nodded. “Sorry. Still have trouble sometimes talking--”

Leaning well over Glorfindel’s chest, Erestor kissed him softly. “I have always loved every inch of you, Fin. Nothing will ever change that. In fact, there is something I think you might enjoy very much, if you will allow me to try? Of course I will stop if you are not pleased.”

“Um, sure?” 

Rearranging meant placing a plump pillow under Glorfindel’s hips, moving legs and liberally kissing, suckling and nipping at whatever interested him, before Erestor carried out his intention. Fingers returned to stroking and stretching, but then the beautiful golden elf felt a tongue at his other entrance. Warm, softer than clouds, sinuous--and Erestor moaned with delight. “You taste wonderful.”

“I do?” Glorfindel felt baffled. Faelion had never done anything like this. No one had ever done anything like this.

“Better than peaches, love,” Erestor murmured.

Glorfindel’s eyebrows arched. That was truly high praise. He felt his body able to relax more, and the magical tongue continued its work. “Feels good. Really good.”

“Mmmmm,” Erestor agreed.  _ What else did you wish to tell me, love? My mouth is quite occupied but my mind has room for other considerations. _

_ Only you, Ress. It is about Káno.  _

_ So this is about whatever is not quite right? I have not wanted to...not wanted to dredge up something that would have made the past days even more difficult. We are all tired, Gildor and Mae are struggling, a lot has happened and...I hoped that was it. Am I wrong? _

For some moments, Glorfindel could not answer. Their mental link was strong, and he poured out his gratitude and enjoyment of these new attentions. 

_ There is more. I think you know that I became very angry with him when I learned about the possibility he will have to resume rule as king. For not telling us before we married him. _

Erestor waited a moment to answer,  his thought half-occupied with the ironies of life that had his tongue presently teasing a vaginal entrance. If only old Hyammo could see him now…  _ I put that together later on, when I had some time to think. I did not have the same feelings as you, though. Sure, it would have been nice to have known that, but I was in no position to criticize. Not after what I withheld from you for thousands of years and him for...however long it was. I just shrugged it off, I guess. And when it seemed like you had gotten over it, I said no more because with our friends being so sick there really was not a good opportunity. As you know, I am a professional at not discussing anything awkward or difficult. _

Without warning, the tongue delved deeper into the entrance; for the briefest of moments the hot mouth pressed tightly against his body while the wriggling organ penetrated as far as it was able before withdrawing.

“Ooooohhhh,” Glorfindel moaned, moving his arm so that his elbow obscured his vision. “Was that what I think it was? Because that was...that felt...you can do that any time.”

_ That was my tongue, silly. And I am very glad this pleases you. Did you know you are becoming a little bit wet? _

_ Is that bad?  _ Glorfindel worried.

_ No, not at all,  _ Erestor reassured him, realizing with dismay that Glorfindel knew very little about the workings of his female parts.  _ When a female becomes aroused, her body produces--well it is a lot like our pre-ejaculate? Lubrication. Whether it is my conditioning or not, I find the scent and taste to be extremely appealing. Yours more so than any other experience I have ever had, because this is you and I love you. _

_ Maybe that explains it,  _ Glorfindel considered, reflecting that at times he would find an inexplicable moisture on his loincloth. That had always been chalked up to Things He Would Rather Not Know. Whether or not that actually was the case faded to the ether as Erestor began to use his tongue in earnest.

_ I can feel how much this arouses you,  _ Erestor told him.  _ With your consent, I would like to try something else? _

Glorfindel bit his lip.  _ I do not think I am ready for you to penetrate me there with your penis. Faelion hurt me so badly doing that, Ress. It felt like I was being split open and much of the time it would start bleeding. A few of the times the bleeding was really bad. _

_ No no no no, not that,  _ Erestor hastened to reassure him.  _ Fin, I have never heard the gory details from you because I did not want to put you through the bad memories. That pig abused you. You were shown no gentleness or consideration, obviously, because that is not ever supposed to happen. His greed just...it sickens me to think on it. I was going to ask if I could try a single finger, which I think is smaller than my tongue. _

A broad smile now emerged.  _ Thank you for your courtesy, then. That, I do not mind. Maybe I do need to tell you. Though, I kind of just did...ugh we can agree then that he was indeed awful. _

_ So...about Káno?  _ Erestor ceased preparing his mate for a moment, to slip a clean finger gently into the passage, slowly and carefully exploring.

_ Uhm...are you in there, Ress? I think you might be, but I cannot tell? _

The dark one chuckled.  _ Yes, I am in there. Going very slowly so that nothing hurts you.  _ Sooner than Erestor expected, his long fingers encountered what he guessed was a cervix.  _ Oh, Fin… _

_ What?! What is it?!  _ Suddenly he felt unaccountably nervous.

This in turn startled Erestor. “Nothing! I mean, I was just surprised, is all. Your passage is small. Not so long as an elleth, I mean. Er, not so long as the ellith with whom I had any...You know what? I am just going to shut up before I can shove my foot any farther down my throat. But what triggered my expression of sorrow was the realization that asshole Faelion probably pounded into you for all he was worth when you do not appear to be formed so as to be able to accommodate that. At least, maybe? It is not like I ever got far enough with an elleth to be any kind of an expert. I kind of want to chop Faelion’s dick off now, but I suppose that would be frowned upon.”

“So I am different,” Glorfindel said softly. “He told me I was just like every other woman.”

“He is a fucking idiot, and if I may, just how did he know that? He may have been a healer, but that was no cause to have his fingers up every lady’s...er...privates.”

“Fair point and ah! What is that?! That feels….stop or I am going to come!!” Glorfindel half sat up at the bliss of sensation flooding his groin, panting. 

“So we will count that as a success,” Erestor said, kissing him soundly. “That was me massaging your prostate from your vagina. I can feel it so much easier there and apparently so can you.”

“Damn,” Glorfindel admitted. “Sign me up, I guess.” His untouched erection was throbbing for release. “But I wanted us to come together.”

“I think we shall still manage,” Erestor said impishly, now sheathing himself inside Glorfindel’s prepared rear passage with a groan of delight. Right away, he began rolling his hips while Glorfindel flopped back onto the pillows again. “Fin, you still have not told me about Káno.”

“Well, you keep distracting me!”

“Fair enough, but do spit it out before we both hit the ‘Grunting Passionately’ stage,” Erestor encouraged.

“I shall try. He is a mess, and he has hidden it from us. Here, see the memories. But first promise that what Maedhros told me in confidence remains that way.”

“I promise. Now cough up.” Erestor’s particularly well-placed thrust emphasized that he was weary of delays.

Glorfindel opened his mind and memory as their bodies moved closer and closer in an increasingly brisk rhythm. Erestor absorbed the new information as he moved faster and faster, waiting to change the angle of his penetration only when he was certain he was close himself. Volume rose along with the heat of his body, until he grabbed Glorfindel’s member with an oiled hand and worked it in a frenzy of activity. They shouted their release, apparently unconcerned about who they might wake, pulling each other into luxurious kisses of satisfaction.

Finally Erestor spoke. “Well, this is really not ideal. I want to help him. We both do; I saw the effort you put forth for him yesterday, though it went sadly awry for reasons I do not yet understand. But what use am I when I am just beginning to climb out of my own black pit?”

“Love is never useless. We both have that. I do not feel I am any kind of healer of the mind, but I know I shall never give up on him. He is our husband, and saw both of us through some very bad times. I will never do less than that for him. With Eru’s grace, perhaps we will even do more,” Glorfindel told him.  “Oh, and...we may have company soon.”

“You told Elrond and he is coming here?” Erestor raised an eyebrow at this afterthought coming from his mate--and chuckled. “I like it.”

“Please do not tell anyone else,” Glorfindel asked, enjoying bearing Erestor’s weight.

“I will not. But...this puts me between you two, in a way. And I am not going to take sides,” Erestor said gently.

“I do not expect you to. I do not want there to be sides. I want us to feel whole again, and I cannot do this alone. That is why Elrond. And you. And everyone under this roof, I hope.”

“I love you,” Erestor said, kissing him one last time before moving off.

Glorfindel smiled when he returned the affection, worrying about whether that love was going to be sorely tested. He already knew the emotional struggle of trying to maintain feelings for a partner that pushed him away. Kept him at arm’s length. It felt like punishment, every time, whether or not it the other party intended that outcome. Closing his eyes, he sighed deeply and questioned the strength of his conviction; principled love was never so easily carefree as love based on romance and eroticism. Time would tell.

####  Afternoon Day 11

Most of the spiritual centers on the island were singular in their standing.  There was one place for Aphadsadorins, and yet another solitary building used by the Cuivienen Reformists, and one place for the Valabronwin and so on.  That also meant that there was but one place for the Sedryners, despite the diversity among that faith. It was a place Fingon had become familiar with when he first came to live on Tol Eressëa.  Now it had been many years since he had regularly attended gatherings, and months since he had even stepped past the stone doorway and walked up the main aisle of the towering building. 

He had specifically chosen this time of day, knowing it would be empty, or mostly empty.  At first it appeared he was the only person there, but once he reached the front of the elaborate main room, with the carved life-sized and lifelike representations of the two trees, glowing with the light of Noldorin gems, Fingon noticed movement and gave a nod to the cleric sitting in the shadows nearby.

The cleric stood and approached, and only when within distance to whisper did he speak.  “May I aid you, child of Eru?”

Fingon set his jaw, hands gripping the low silver barrier that separated him from the carvings.  His immediate thought was to decline, but slowly he nodded. “I have sinned,” was all he would say.

The cleric nodded back.  “You seek forgiveness.”

Fingon shook his head as he closed his eyes.  “I seek… something. I know not what.”

“Come.”  The cleric motioned as he began to walk from the main altar, and Fingon followed.  He was taken to a private room adjoining the main part of the temple, and the door was closed after candles were lit.  There was an array of gems in one corner embedded in the wall -- one pure white jewel highest of all, and twelve of assorted colors beneath.  While this particular sect of Sedrynerin practices was not unknown to Fingon, he did not associate as part of the group. Nonetheless, he saw the cushion on the ground and the simple wooden platform on an adjustable base, which the cleric was already making just a little taller than it had been.  As the cleric moved away to sit in a chair in another part of the room, Fingon walked to the corner, and after only a moment of hesitation, knelt on the cushion and folded his hands upon the platform. He knew he was to gaze upon the stones while speaking, and the close proximity caused him to have to tilt his head somewhat uncomfortably to do so.

“Let me adjust this a bit.”  The cleric had Fingon stand, and both cushion and platform were brought closer to the center of the room.  “Better?” he asked when Fingon was kneeling again.

Fingon nodded without taking his eyes off the large gem looming over the others.  He waited until he heard the cleric sit again. “I have sinned,” he repeated again, but this time, he was looking at the jewel on the wall.

“Perhaps an accounting of these sins might assist us both, even though He knows already what you have done,” suggested the cleric.

Fingon swallowed hard and then bowed his head.  “I do not belong here,” he mumbled to himself.

The cleric moved, and was suddenly at Fingon’s side with a hand on his shoulder.  “All children of Eru belong here,” he said softly. “Why do you believe you do not?”

Fingon stared up at the gems and then looked at the cleric.  “I have chosen a polygamous life. I have lost the right to worship here.”

“Mmm.  Perhaps that would be the case elsewhere, but not here.  You are not native to this place, are you, child of Eru?”

Fingon shook his head.  “Tirion,” he said.

“Yes.  In Tirion, what you said would be true, but here we are… more accepting.  Eru loves you and has blessed you; why should we not do the same?” The cleric took a step back.  “I recognized you when you entered. You used to come here often.”

“At least once a week, and sometimes more,” Fingon said.

“Is your marital arrangement the reason you stopped coming?” asked the cleric softly.  “Is that the sin you speak of? If it is, have no fear, for love is not a sin.”

“Yes to the first question.  As for the second, no. My sins are against those I love.”

The cleric looked down sympathetically.  He gave Fingon’s shoulder a squeeze and returned to his chair.  “Speak to me of your transgressions, child of Eru.”

Fingon rubbed his hands together and then folded his fingers together tightly.  “Pride and vainglory. Acedia and greed. Worst of them all, perhaps, wrath. Wrath that has lasted centuries.  Wrath that I fear I cannot control.”

“You speak of pride and vanity first,” said the cleric.  “How have you been prideful?”

“I am not sure if I can explain with words,” said Fingon.  “I am lucky I managed this far.” He was trembling slightly as he spoke.

“Perhaps you need not give details,” the cleric said.  “Afterall, you know what you have done, and He knows what you have done, and forgiveness comes ultimately from Him, and from yourself, and from those you have wronged, but in the opposite order.  How can He forgive you if you have not forgiven yourself? How can you forgive yourself when those you love and have wronged have not forgiven you?”

Fingon rubbed his face with his hands.  “I am at a loss of what to say to them. I beg for mercy, then lash out.  I have run out of options.”

“You have spoken to them, but what have you done to truly atone?  What actions have you taken?” The cleric waited, and when Fingon did not speak, he continued.  “You speak of wrath. You must show you can be merciful and calm. You speak of acedia. You must show that you take responsibility, and that you offer your time for the care of others.  You speak of greed. You must show temperance and generosity. You speak of pride. You must show modesty and humility. You speak of vanity. You must practice modesty. Only then can you hope to ask for forgiveness and receive it.”

The cleric moved back to Fingon and set his hand upon his shoulder once again.  “Stay as long as you need, child of Eru. I go now to pray for you.” The cleric kissed Fingon upon the crown of his head, spoke a blessing, and exited the room but left the door open.

Fingon continued to tremble for a minute more, and then bent his head and wept.  “I failed you,” were the first words to emerge after he found a small pool of tears had collected on the platform.  “I failed you, I failed him, and I failed myself.” 

“What makes you think you failed?” came the voice of the cleric.

Fingon took a deep breath.  “I told Eru I would…” Fingon bowed his head.  “It is complicated.”

“Try me.”

“I promised something to Eru, and for a while, I was successful.  And now… I fear I have veered from the path. There are more people involved.  I do not know how to fix things,” said Fingon.

“You would be surprised how many people make vows to Eru that they do not keep.  The difference between someone who breaks one knowingly and someone who struggles is that the one who struggles made the attempt.  Perhaps there is still time to find the path again.”

“But how?” Fingon lifted his head and looked up at the jewel.  “I would ask Him, but I feel I ask too much.”

“You feel you are more than He is?  Or you believe you are not worth His time?”

“No!  I certainly do not think I am more than He, and I… I hope I am still worth His time,” said Fingon, though this second part was less certain.

“Vainglory say you; you alter the image He perceives of you,” came the voice behind him, and Fingon closed his eyes as he caught sight of the smear under his eyes from cosmetics carefully applied that morning, and the hint of stubble from where he usually took such care to shave each day.  “It is not that your image displeases Him, but your reasons in doing so. Pride; the same. Say you are a prideful narcissist, and you speak it to being; say you are gifted and blessed, and further blessings will come to you.”

Fingon wiped his face and looked down at his reflection again.  He found a handkerchief in his pocket and wiped away the remainder of the ruined eyeliner before he folded it and put it away.  “Thank you,” he said as he began to turn around. “I needed--” He paused to see he was alone in the room again.

Fingon took a deep sigh and stood.  He blew out the candles before leaving.  On his way out of the temple, he stopped to bow to the cleric, who was at the altar.  A small group was already congregating for the afternoon prayers, and Fingon whispered his thanks.  “I appreciate your words. I needed your guidance. Thank you for returning.”

The cleric tilted his head.  “Returning what?”

Fingon motioned to the room he had just left.  “When you… came back?” The cleric was already shaking his head before he finished his sentence, and Fingon looked back to where he had been.  “I was… never mind,” he said quickly when the cleric raised his brow. “Thank you.” Fingon bowed again and hurried out of the temple.

\----

“Sir?”  Inarata stood another few moments in front of Fingon before she tried again.  “Sir? Are you alright?”

Fingon looked up.  “Sorry, what?”

“Sir, something seems to distract you.  Do you need some water?” offered Inarata.

“Uh, no.  Thank you.”  Fingon looked down to see that his pen had hovered in the same spot over the document he had been writing, which now meant there was a splotch of sepia spreading out from a single point on the page.  Disgusted with himself and his inability to focus, he stabbed the quill back into its holder, and crushed the sheet between his hands before shooting it into the waste bin a few feet away.

“Would you like some assistance with something?” asked Nasarion.  

Fingon looked around.  Unlike his feelings on how his home life was, the library was orderly and well-managed.  Tasks were completed in a timely fashion, and everyone knew their place in the hierarchy.  Ultimately, everything was done in accordance with his wishes and decisions; though he sought counsel, this was undoubtedly his domain.  “I have been running my life like a library,” he said.

“Is that a bad thing?” asked Nasarion.

Fingon pulled a fresh sheet of paper from his desk.  “Someday, when you take over for me--”

“Sir!  I would--”

“You have been here longer than most, and I believe that is your desire some day,” said Fingon gently.  Nasarion bit his lip. “It is alright. It is good to have goals in life. When you do become the master of the library, make sure you keep your work here and do not take it with you, and you… leave the title before you walk out that door each night.”

Nasarion gave a very serious nod.  “For what it is worth, I think you treat everyone here quite well.  Like a family, really.”

Fingon smiled ruefully.  “Thank you.” 

Nasarion bowed slightly and headed back to his business.  Inarata took his place. “Would you like me to bring you some soup tonight?  It is no trouble,” she rushed. “My mother is making so much of it! She would love to have me bring some for you.”

Fingon turned his chair and motioned to the other chair that Erestor often sat in.  Inarata took a seat and Fingon said, “I would like to cook for you. And your mother.  And… how many people are in your family, here on the island?”

“We all came here for my sister and I to study,” said the Vanya.  “So we are here, and my parents, and my older sister, and her husband, and their daughter.”

After tallying this in his head, Fingon replied, “What will you be doing tomorrow?”

“There are no classes and I do not work,” Inarata said.  “We will be home unless we go to the theatre.”

“You have no plans right now that you know of?”  Fingon paused, and Inarata shook her head. “I would like you and your family to be my guests at my home.  I would like to cook for you and provide entertainment.”

“At your home?  It would be such a great honor!  Of course we will come!” 

“Excellent.  Late afternoon, for supper?”

Inarata nodded excitedly.  “We would love that! Thank you!”

Fingon returned to his documents and managed to write the next one successfully before he took a break to massage a cramp from his wrist.  He looked around the library at the other members of the staff diligently working, and then to his right, where Inarata still sat, for he had not dismissed her.  “Would you like me to invite the rest of the family here?” she asked when he took another look around the library.

“Sure,” said Fingon.  Inarata began to stand up.  “If you could just provide me with a count of the number of people total before the end of the day, I would very much appreciate that.”

“Of course!” she said as she stood up to complete her task.  “It will be a pleasure!”

Inarata weaved her way through the library to speak to everyone else who worked there.  She stopped to speak to Nasarion last and explained the intention that Fingon had. “I was going to attend the joust with some of the gardeners… I suppose I could do that next weekend.  They go all the time. Who else is going to be there?” he asked. 

“So far it will just be my family and I.  Everyone else has things to do. It is tomorrow,” she said understandingly.

“True…”  Nasarion ducked further into the stacks of books and Inarata followed him.  “There is something different with the old man today,” he said.

She nodded.  “He removed his cosmetics after lunch,” she said.

“I think it is more than that,” opined Nasarion.  “I wonder if Erestor is injured worse than the old man said he was.”

“I was there.  I stopped by with food for them and their friends, and Erestor did not seem too bad.  Maybe something happened with their friends,” suggested Inarata. 

Nasarion crossed his arms over his chest, deep in thought.  “No one else from work is coming?” Inarata nodded. “Then I will arrange my schedule so that I can be there, too.”  

Before Fingon left for the day, he was handed a slip of paper with the number 8 on it.  “I am sorry; so many people have plans for tomorrow,” said Inarata.

“There is no reason to be sorry,” said Fingon as empty book carts were assembled behind the desk in anticipation of the returns that would flow in the next week.  “I will see you tomorrow. I look forward to meeting your family.” Only after everyone left did he realize he did not have the name of the other person attending.  

He locked the doors and made sure they were secure before he walked down the steps and tried to decide which way to travel.  Fingon had arrived on foot that day, and intended to return the same way. He considered the market to pick up some special treats for his companions and guests, but also knew that as soon as he purchased those he would want to take them home.  He took instead the path away from the road home, where the tea house that Erestor frequented with the interns was, and the pastry shop that Glorfindel liked to stop in when he visited them at the library. There were stables located down this road, too, with many beautiful horses.  He stopped by the fence and leaned his arms on it, admiring the bespeckled equines until it appeared one of the horse masters was about to walk over and engage him in conversation, and then he moved on, kicking stones in his path down the road. Couples and families walked together discussing what show to see or musicians to seek out, a harkening of the weekend.  Tourists commuted down the path in groups, with guides pointing out items of interest and giving ample time to stop and make purchases of souvenirs. 

As he walked, Fingon reflected on what advice he had been offered that afternoon, and the things he had felt.  He had skipped lunch, but found he was still not hungry. The butterflies in his stomach left no room for that.  As he traveled further away from the bustle of the city, he recognized that he was in a state of avoidance as it pertained to returning home.  A large tour group came down the street, and he looked up to see that he had walked all the way to the crossroads that led down to the docks. Fingon moved to the side of the road with a smile to allow the group to pass by, and was amused when he hear the guide remark, “as you can see, the natives of the island are very polite and friendly” with a wave of her hand toward him.

After the roadway cleared, he paused to look at these final few shops at the end of the road.  Perhaps it was the beginning of the road; it all really depended upon how one looked at it. A sign in a shop window caught his eye, and he nearly walked across the street.  A door at a storefront that sold trinkets and souvenirs opened on the side of the street that Fingon stood upon, and he pretended in an instant that he was only on a stroll and not loitering.  Fingon kicked a few rocks off to the side of the path. Looking up, he realized he was going to appear to be avoiding everyone again, so he hurried back along the roadway to the open air stalls where he picked up spices and a few other ingredients for the meal he had in mind for the next day.

As had become customary, dinner was already being prepared when Fingon came into the house.  Glorfindel was at the oven, and Gildor making a salad with Erestor, while Maedhros sat in a chair grinding something in a bowl he held between his knees.  Fingon felt for a moment that the scene looked perfect, two couples enjoying an evening as they prepared a meal, and he shoved away the depressive thoughts that he created an imbalance and belonged elsewhere.  He hung his satchel over a chair, and greeted Erestor, who was the first to approach him. “Everyone at the library sends their regards to you,” said Fingon after he and his husband exchanged a kiss.

“I do miss them.  You have told them that I will return soon, I hope,” said Erestor.

Fingon nodded.  “You can actually tell some of them yourself,” he said.  When Erestor gave him a questioning look, he responded with, “I have invited Inarata and her family to dinner tomorrow.  Some of the other staff may come as well.”

“How many?” asked Glorfindel cautiously.  _ Eres, what even the fuck? He came home to me in the small hours of the morning. I was terrified he had been in an accident--he had not, it was some shitstorm at work. We both admitted, I thought, that there was a lot of distress going on and we were both frightened about what was happening to us. I expected we would, you know, spend the time talking about the tatters of our relationship? And now we are having a fucking party that guarantees we will not have either time for relaxation or to work on what has become of us under this roof? Am I missing something here? _

“I think no more than ten, if that,” said Fingon.  “I picked up some things from the market. I want to try some Avarin and Vanyarin fusion food ideas I have had for a while.”

“A party, then?” asked Gildor excitedly.  “I love a good party!”

“You are a good party,” countered Maedhros, who was blown a kiss.

“That should be fun!  I look forward to seeing them,” Erestor said with great enthusiasm, though the look he gave Glorfindel was cautionary.  Fingon nodded and left to go outside in search for items he wanted from the garden. 

Only after the door was closed did Glorfindel speak again.  “Ten people! That triples the amount of people we need to feed.”

“Parties are fun,” offered Gildor.  “I will help with the cleaning and the cooking,” he vowed.  

“He could have asked first,” mumbled Glorfindel.  “Again, he thinks of himself before anyone else.”

The room was quiet except for the sizzle of food, and Erestor cleared his throat.  “Excuse me,” he said to Gildor and Maedhros, “May I please have a moment with my husband?” asked Erestor quite calmly.  Both nodded and left the room, and Glorfindel looked sheepishly at Erestor. “I know you are still upset,” said Erestor as he came behind Glorfindel and wrapped his arms around him.  “I know that he is avoiding us a lot. But there is something about this that is very important. In the four years that he and I were here, he never invited anyone over. I did it all the time.  I had friends over for tea, and coworkers for dinner. He cooked and set things up all the time, and sometimes he would be there in the beginnings, but then he would slip quietly away. This is so very important.  I think he is trying to tell us something with this. He may even be doing this for me,” Erestor realized. “I really miss the people I work with.”

“So you think he is throwing an impromptu dinner party and inconveniencing everyone for you?” asked Glorfindel.

Erestor nuzzled behind Glorfindel’s ear and kissed his cheek.  “How much of an inconvenience is it, really? Gildor has this place cleaner than it has been in a long while, and between you and Fingon, I do not think cooking for a group is going to be a problem.  Also, if I know Inarata’s family as I do, I would not be surprised if they bring extra food with them.”

“She is a very pleasant person to talk to,” admitted Glorfindel.  “And I do miss those nights we would spend in the Hall of Fire.”

Erestor smiled against Glorfindel’s skin and kissed him again.  “Let us see what happens. We may be surprised.”

“Alright,” Glorfindel answered carefully. “I will try not to be a gigantic prick. For you, if for no other reason. And now I just sounded like a gigantic prick anyway. Shit. Believe it or not, I am trying. I just need to try harder.”

“Maybe just try being yourself again,” suggested Erestor.  “The man standing before me would never have said such a thing about himself once upon a time in Imladris.  He was charming, and mirthful, and funny, and we shared so many good times together, and I know he is still in there somewhere,” Erestor said with certainty.  “We can never go back to Imladris, but I think that Captain of the Guard I knew there long ago might really enjoy himself here.”

“I shall take your words under advisement, dear Chief Advisor.”  Glorfindel laughed a little to say the title. “How long has it been since I called you that?”

“Too long, I think.  Of all of my previous titles, I feel that was the one that fit the best.”  Erestor lowered his voice. “Speaking of Imladris, have you heard any more from Elrond?”

“He still intends to visit,” Glorfindel whispered.  “For all I know, he might be on his way now. I do not wish to attempt to reach his mind again, for I think that would cause greater worry for him.”

Erestor nodded in agreement.  “Having him here should be a great relief for us all.  At the very least, he has a way of calming situations. Celebrían will be with him, and she has a way of brightening just about any situation.”  Erestor frowned. “And then we just hope that Fingon does not get overwhelmed and decide to run.”

Glorfindel rubbed his hands over his face, but slowly shook his head.  “I am going to try to be more positive, beginning now. I am going to try to channel that Captain of the Guard--”

“Mmm, yes, channel him,” Erestor said in a solemn tone, though he followed this with, “especially that nice, firm ass of his, and his irreplaceable wit and charm.”

“--and I am going to think positively about this.  If this gathering will help Fingon, and you, I will do my best to support it.  I will concentrate on all of the good that might come from the visit from Elrond and Celebrían.”

Erestor crossed his arms over his chest.  “That is an excellent start.” He glanced pointedly down and around at Glorfindel’s posterior.

“Why could you not have been like this in Imladris?”  Glorfindel turned slightly and tightened up his muscles as he stuck his rear out just slightly.

“No time like the present to make up for it,” Erestor offered as he gave Glorfindel’s ass a good squeeze.  He leaned in and whispered into Glorfindel’s ear. “You. Me. Council chambers. Now.”

A shiver ran down Glorfindel’s spine.  “Yes, sir,” he agreed, and for a little while, in his mind at least, it did feel like Rivendell again.


	12. Day 12

####  Afternoon of Day 12

The entire day was a rough and tumble experience of picking produce, cleaning and cutting it, readying the good dishes and silverware, and setting up both the outdoors and the great room for eating, in case of rain or wind or some other unexpected nuisance.  Fingon had several lists at the beginning of the day, and Gildor saw to it that everything on all four was checked off well in advance of the anticipated arrivals. 

Cooking was still in progress when the first knock came upon the door, and it was Maedhros who was elected to answer it.  On the other side stood an unexpected guest. He was of average height and build, with grey eyes, a smattering of light freckles under his eyes, and long strawberry blond hair that was very straight and pulled back into a ponytail.  In his hands he held multiple trays of baked goods. “I hope I have not arrived too early,” he said apologetically. “I wanted to be sure I brought these over before my cat got into them.”

“How very thoughtful of you.  Let me…” Maedhros looked over his shoulder.  “Gildor! May we have your assistance?”

Promptly, Gildor came down the hallway and raked his eyes over the very young ellon standing in the doorway.  “Of course you can. What sort of assistance would you like from me?”

Maedhros stared Gildor down and then said, “Can you please assist… sorry, I did not catch your name.”

“Harmacullo.  I work at the school,” he said.

“How charming!” declared Gildor as he took the pie on the top of the stack of treats.  “I am--”

“Gildor Inglorion, son of Finrod Felagund.  That would make you Maedhros Russandol Feanorion, if I have remembered correctly,” said Harmacullo.  “I am an archivist,” he added. “I am specializing in Middle-earth history from the beginning of the First Age through the end of the Second.”

“Oh, do I have some stories for you,” Gildor said as he managed a loaf of cranberry and walnut bread with his other hand.  

“I was hoping you might,” said Harmacullo, and he carried the last tray, containing an ample supply of cookies, through to the kitchen while chatting with Gildor.  

Maedhros used the opportunity to slide out onto the front porch.  He closed the door and glanced around to make sure he was alone before he leaned against the door and pulled a flask concealed in a pocket low on his trousers.  He unscrewed the cap without a moment of hesitation and took a swig from it, calmed by the burn he felt down his throat when he tipped his head back. When he righted himself again, he saw Asfaloth’s large black eyes upon him.

The two watched each other for a few moments.  The wind jangled the bells around Asfaloth’s right wrist.  He was wearing mostly white, as he had taken to doing most of the time, with white boots that hugged his legs up to his thighs and a flowing white tunic with ivory embroidery.  He blinked those large eyes a few times, and then nervously tapped his knuckles together.

“I suppose you will inform everyone of this,” Maedhros finally said to interrupt the silence.

“Why would I do that?” questioned Asfaloth.  “I am just a horse. Neigh. Neigh. Whinny. Snort.”

Maedhros took another drink before he hid the flask away again.  “Just warn me before you do, alright? I do not need a war over this like we have been having with Fingon.”  Maedhros headed back inside to assist Gildor with the hosting duties.

More than an hour passed before anyone else came to the cottage.  A cheerful knock on the door caused Fingon to extract himself from the kitchen as he knowingly said, “That has to be Inarata and her family.”  Indeed, it was, with a few additional cousins and an uncle who was very interested in the structure of the cottage, on account of being an architect.  While Fingon had predicted that the family would bring additional food with them, this was not the case, and he slipped away as soon as he could to assess the situation in the kitchen.  

“What is wrong?” asked Glorfindel, who had served as Fingon’s assistant in the food making process since nearly sunrise.  With the bandages still on one hand, there were many things Fingon was unable to do, and Glorfindel had readily jumped in when he saw a frustrated Fingon attempting to wash vegetables with one hand.  Erestor was at the table, placing dishes on the cart in preparation of whichever area Fingon decided to set out the food.

“We have seven more people than I expected,” Fingon fussed.  “Now, the good news is, I expected we would generally be done very soon, but we cannot eat until after sundown because they are mostly reformists, and they are observing a daytime fast.  I think that must be why they did not bring any food with them. It has to be hard to cook if you cannot taste what you are cooking.”

“Do we need more plates, too?” asked Erestor.

“Oh, crap, yes.  I--” And that was when the bell, not often used by anyone who came to the house, rang loudly.  “There cannot be anymore. Everyone is already here.”

“The first person who showed up was from the archives,” Glorfindel said.  “He is the one who brought the pie and whatever else you see there.” He nodded to the table, and concern for Fingon began to creep upon him as he watched Fingon open cabinets and mutter and mumble to himself.  “Sweetheart, what can I do?”

“Just… let me think…”  Fingon stood before the pantry with his hands clutching his head.

Erestor paused in his work and walked over.  “Do you need me to harvest anything else from the garden?  Most of what you are making is hot food, and I have a feeling there is lettuce out there, and tomatoes in the greenhouse.  I can make a salad. Most of our guests are vegetarians. What do you think?”

Fingon gave a little nod, and Erestor retrieved a large bowl from the cabinet.  He gave Glorfindel’s shoulder a squeeze on his way out. Fingon still stood in place as Glorfindel approached.  Fingon picked up one of the jars of spice with his unbandaged hand and sighed to see it was nearly depleted. “Can you just go back to yesterday and tell me this is a bad idea, and hound me about it until I uninvite everyone so that we could have slept in this morning instead?”

“Sometimes we just have to live through our bad ideas,” said Glorfindel.  “I am sure some good will come of all this.” He wrapped his arms around Fingon.  “What if we start with, what do we have a lot of that we can use, and go from there?”  He scanned the shelves, and pointed to a large sack of lentils. “We have carrots outside.  We can use those and onions to make a base for a soup. Lentils, potatoes, and whatever else Erestor can find in the yard.  It is not particularly fancy, but as a supplement to everything else you have here with your fusion idea, I think a salad and soup on the side will be more than acceptable.”

“We will not have enough time to cook it,” worried Fingon.

“We can make it in several smaller pots and mix it all together at the end in the big one.”  Glorfindel retrieved the lentils and nudged Fingon. “We have enough time to make noodles for it, too.  The soup is very Telerin; if you make those thin noodles your grandmother makes, you can say it is a mix of Telerin and Vanyarin cuisine.  Plus, we have a lot of preserved foods in the basement. We can have Erestor arrange some relish trays of pickled items as appetizers and he can add some fresh vegetables on them to brighten them up a little.”

“That sounds like a better idea than I had,” said Fingon as he started to gather up the pots.  The bell rang again. “I really hope that is the same person and not another person,” whined Fingon.

“I will go out and get a count as soon as Erestor gets in,” said Glorfindel, not wanting to leave Fingon on his own.

At the front door, knocking now occurred.  The first bell had been Cessanya, who had heard of the gathering from Inarata, who was determined to have as many people attend as she could reach (thinking that Fingon would be quite distraught if only a few people came to his dinner party).  The second bell was from the person who was now knocking, for Maedhros had engaged in conversation with Cessanya and Harmacullo on the topic of Tengwar. Gildor, who had been entertaining Inarata and her family, turned this task over to Asfaloth so that he could answer the door.  He bounded over as the knocking became louder and more insistent. “Keep your pants on,” Gildor muttered to himself. When he yanked the door open, he gave the ellon on the other side an appraising look. “On second thought…”

“Pardon?”  Nasarion, holding a cloth bag containing several bottles of wine, stood on the stoop.  His red hair, normally pulled back or neatly braided, was loose, brushed to shine like copper, and his wrists, normally unadorned, were embellished with copper jewelry as well.  While normally dressed very conservatively at the library, he now wore form fitting black leggings and a loose satin shirt of muted gold with an unbuttoned brocade vest. The vest had swirls of black and gold, and was a finely tailored piece.  

Gildor took a moment to admire the clothing, and another moment to consider what was hidden underneath before he smiled invitingly.  “Oh, do come… in.” Gildor opened the door a little wider, but did not move aside very much, which would have forced Nasarion to brush against him in order to enter.

“I brought wine,” said Nasarion as he lifted the bag.

“So you did.  So thoughtful,” said Gildor.  “Thoughtful, yet completely unnecessary, but appreciated nonetheless.”

Nasarion lowered the bag.  “What should I have brought?” he asked, and now his gaze was lingering on Gildor, and not his eyes.

“Oh… we are simple folk here,” replied Gildor, who looked anything but simple in the rich blues and golds he chose to wear, adorned with gems from his hair to rings on his toes visible with his feet bare.  “Just yourself, and then… we can figure out the rest. Just stop pounding so hard… on the door,” advised Gildor.

A little smirk turned up Nasarion’s lip.  “I did ring your bell first, but no one answered.”

“No?  Perhaps you just need to give it a firmer pull,” drawled Gildor.  He stepped to the doorway, and Nasarion did not back down. Gildor wound around the doorway, brushing against Nasarion’s hip as he took hold of the cord and gave it a try.  “See? Like that,” Gildor said, and the bell rang again. He moved back to being upright in the house.

“Ah.  See, I did this,” Nasarion said, and he gripped the cord and gave it three sharp yanks, all while keeping his eyes locked with Gildor’s.  “I thought for sure you would have heard me.”

“Oh, no, no,” said Gildor, and before Nasarion could let go, he had his fingers wrapped over Nasarion’s hand.  “Much too much force. Firm, but slow. Like this.” He guided Nasarion’s hand, and the bell rang a few more times.  As the cadence receded, Gildor stroked his fingers up and down Nasarion’s hand. “Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” answered Nasarion.  

Gildor bit his lip, and for a moment, looked away, before he focused on Nasarion again.  “It is so good to meet you…?”

“Nasarion Annaelion.”

“Nasarion.”  Gildor said the name with a purr to his voice.  “I think I can remember that. And my name is Gildor.  Gildor Inglorion. You will want to remember that for later.”

“For later, eh?”  Nasarion stepped into the house, and with Gildor holding his ground, he was now pressed close to the other ellon.  “What kind of boy do you think I am?” he asked in a low whisper.

“I know exactly what kind of boy you are,” responded Gildor.  Only now did he step back to give Nasarion some room.

“This is the residence of Master Fingon, is it not?”  Nasarion now asked. 

“It is,” replied Gildor.

“And your position here is…?”

“Naughty butler,” answered Gildor immediately.

Nasarion laughed.  “I am very doubtful of that,” he said.  “Try again?”

Gildor cleared his throat.  “I am the extremely extravagant and flamboyant lover of Master Fingon’s ex.”

“That actually sounds more far fetched, and yet, far more believable.”  Nasarion closed the door behind him and looked around. “So this must be some party he is throwing if you are here.”

“Oh, he and I are very close friends,” said Gildor.  “Though, I have lots of room for closer friends,” he added.

“And your… lover?  Boyfriend? Girlfriend?  Spouse? Do they know how much room you have for closer friends?” asked Nasarion cautiously.

“Most of the above, and, speaking of, I asked him to come out here… he must be actually doing his job.  Unlike me.” Gildor linked arms with Nasarion. “No matter. I can introduce him to you with less innuendo if there are other people around.  Right this way.”

Meanwhile, Fingon was sitting on a chair in the kitchen having a panic attack.  “It just keeps ringing,” he fretted, for he had heard no less than a dozen rings of the bell.

“Honey, I think sometimes one person is ringing it several times,” explained Glorfindel, who was thankful when Erestor returned from his errand.  “I am going to go in there and take a head count, and-- oh!” Glorfindel nearly ran into Gildor, who was rushing into the kitchen with the bag of wine.  “Gildor, how many people are out there?” asked Glorfindel.

“Uh… a bunch?”  Gildor set the bag on the table and Fingon whimpered.  “Oh… I mean, not so many. Why? How many is a good number?”

“Seriously, Gildor, can you find out how many people are out there?” asked Glorfindel.

“And then come back and tell you?”  Gildor sighed. “Alright, but then, I need to stay out there.”   
  
“Is everything alright out there?” asked Erestor.

“What?  Yes. Fine.  Great.” Gildor began to walk off, but Erestor grabbed him by the back of his collar.  “Yes? What?”

“Gildor, are you corrupting our interns?” asked Erestor.

“I cannot corrupt someone who is already corrupted,” he answered back.

Erestor narrowed his eyes.  “No propositioning the interns,” he warned.

“What if they proposition me first?” asked Gildor.  Erestor’s glare caused him to sigh. “Fine. I will leave the interns alone,” he said on his way back out.  A few minutes later he returned. “EIghteen, plus there are six of us, for a total of twenty-four so far.”

“So far?”  Fingon took a deep breath.  

“We can plan for thirty then, just in case,” said Glorfindel.  “Thank you, Gildor.” Once Gildor was gone, Glorfindel pulled another chair out and sat on it so he could face Fingon.  He took hold of Fingon’s hands and held them gently. “I am going to help you so that this dinner is fun and successful, and so will Erestor, but as soon as we are done, the rest of the night belongs to the three of us.  We do not have to talk, or really anything. I just want the three of us to be together and to relax, and enjoy being with each other. Will you agree to that?”

“That sounds like a really nice idea,” admitted Fingon.  He cringed when the bell rang again. 

“Good.”  Glorfindel stood and then pulled Fingon up with him.  “And next time you want to do this, please, I will do everything to help, but please, let us plan this out a little more.”  Fingon nodded, and Glorfindel kissed his hands. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” responded Fingon.  He leaned down to kiss Glorfindel on the top of his head, nuzzling the soft blond waves.

“And I love you both,” added Erestor as he joined them and pulled them all into an embrace.  “I love you both so much that as much as I want to help with the soup, I am going to leave that all to the two of you so that it does not turn into vegetable sludge.”

“You are too kind,” said Glorfindel with a little chuckle.

“Never let it be said that I do not put my lovers’ interests ahead of my own,” he smiled with a twinkle in his eye, and left to pick tomatoes in the greenhouse.

  
  


####  Evening Day 12

“Either you are a terrible tease, or you suddenly saw me in the light and decided I was extremely unattractive.”

Gildor, not often startled, almost spilled his drink.  He was standing alone in the sitting room, watching the fire.  Maedhros had only just excused himself a moment earlier to visit the water closet.  With a swift recovery, Gildor flashed a sincere smile at the other red-head currently in the house, and sighed as he watched the the light dance off of the young man’s features.  “Neither, darling, but I made a promise, and I am really trying to get better about keeping them.”

“A promise.  Sounds serious.”  Nasarion sipped from his goblet.  “You know what they say about oaths, though… well, I suppose it is something for your companion?  To be fair, if I were him, and you were you, I would be a little jealous of some immature, unknown flirtatious librarian getting too close to you.”

“Oh, no,” Gildor assured him.  “No, no, Mae Mae thought it could be quite fun, but…”  Gildor shook his head. “You know. Promises.” He looked back down at the flames in the fireplace.

“Now I am intrigued.”  Nasarion continued to take small sips of wine.  “Who did you make this promise to? It must have been recent.”

“My, you are persistent,” remarked Gildor.  “A quality I like in a man. A fine, strong, intelligent, well-shaped man… tall men… tall, red-haired men… with great hair…”  Gildor sighed. “Alas, a promise is a promise.” He looked sadly at the fire. “You have beautiful hair,” he added in case Nasarion had not picked up on that compliment.

Nasarion opened his mouth, about to attempt once more to prod the answer from Gildor, but noticed the approach of Maedhros from the hallway.  “Maybe I can convince him to tell me just what sort of promise has caused such a change in you this evening.”

“Convince me of what?” The tall Fëanorian moved like a great cat, his stride languid as he seated himself near Gildor. The gray eyes never left Nasarion, though his speaking voice came off as mild and unconcerned.

Full of confidence and charisma that seemed to match that of Gildor, Nasarion sauntered over and sized up Maedhros as he took another drink of wine.  While they had been introduced, it was only minutes after Gildor disappeared momentarily to the kitchen much earlier in the evening that Nasarion was offered only a curt, “Changed my mind,” before Gildor whisked Maedhros away right up through dinner.  Now that the majority of the guests and residents were in the great room playing party games, Nasarion was quite curious as to the sudden change in Gildor’s attitude. “Your dear one has made some sort of promise, and it includes excluding me from whatever was in his mind when we first met at the door.  You would not happen to know what that is all about, would you?”

“You are most bold,” Maedhros smiled, projecting confidence to cover over his feelings. Though, this almost-challenge was unexpected. “You inquire as though his alteration in trajectory is something that deprives you. Tell me, and then I may answer your question--what is it you wish from him?”

Nasarion frowned and studied Maedhros with his head slightly tilted to the side.  “You have no idea…” he realized, and then, he shook his head and turned back to Gildor.  “Mmm. I get it now. You mess with someone’s head, tell them suddenly you changed your mind, and probably you get off on this or something.  Right. Got it.” Nasarion looked back at Maedhros. “Sorry to have bothered you. Enjoy your evening.”

When Nasarion attempted to go back to the great room, Gildor stepped in his way.  “Look. I am sorry. Yes, I teased you a little. Yes, I had other expectations. Yes, Mae Mae, this is my fault,” he said a little louder as he looked over to his mate.  “I flirt, I probably go a little too far, and while Mae Mae and I have a beautifully open relationship, I am the one who likes it to be open, and he, quite honestly, could do without happily.”

“Uh-huh.  Great. Uhm, not to kill the mood here, but I am not in the business of relationship counseling,” Nasarion said as politely as possible.

“Yes, well, that is the trouble, of course,” Gildor admitted.  “My promise was that I would not ‘corrupt’ any of the library interns.  I mean, you are your own person of course, and--”

“And not an intern,” Nasarion voiced, seemingly perturbed.  “You thought I was an intern? I might look young, but I have been a librarian for over ten years,” he said firmly.

Gildor bit his lip.  It appeared he was remorseful in some way, but in reality, he just needed to keep from laughing at the thought that ten years was any sort of longevity in comparison to the thousands upon thousands of years of his own life.

Maedhros had carefully watched the youth and now an eyebrow raised in mild interest. He looked at Gildor, then back to Nasarion. With a heart warmed by Gildor’s obvious intention of placing him first, his tension ebbed somewhat. Enough. With a slight gesture of his hand and an inclination of his head to Gildor, he silently gave his assent. And in the event he was not understood, he spoke: “Well. Not an intern. I would say this alters your circumstances, Gildor. Please do forgive him, Nasarion. Gildor is a passionate man, a free spirit. He is also honest to a fault, and did not know your position at your place of employment.”

“And now that we know of your employment, we can return to your enjoyment,” Gildor said with a wink.

Nasarion still looked hurt at the implication that he held the low rank of intern.  “Maybe I would prefer to go and play another round of twenty questions with the others,” he pouted.

“As if,” muttered Gildor.  “Not unless the first question is ‘what do I have in my pants?’”

Nasarion blinked as he perceived the sudden change in Gildor.  “I take it you play that game a lot.”

“Not so much,” Maedhros offered. “He is much better at hide the pickle.”

“I do so love a good pickle,” Gildor said wistfully.  “How do you like your pickles, Nasarion?” asked Gildor.

The rest of the wine in the goblet was finished before Nasarion scrutinized Gildor, and then turned to Maedhros.  “Before this goes further, rules. You are too comfortable with this not to have them,” he concluded.

“Simple,” the tall redhead answered. “Whatever he does, I am there to see it. He is my mate, and I claim the obvious privileges of his body. Otherwise…” he shrugged. “One of the things I love most about Gildor is his bottomless creativity.”

“So you just watch, or you participate?” questioned Nasarion.

“Often the former, occasionally the latter. As he already mentioned, my inclinations are monogamous. It is no slight against you; my heart belongs to Gildor.” With that, Maedhros’ eyes fixed on Gildor with a love painfully genuine to behold, though the emotional display was extremely brief.

An eruption of laughter from the next room reached the three of them, and Nasarion set his goblet aside on a table.  “Is there a place we might speak privately? Half the people in there are my coworkers, and--”

“We have a room upstairs.”  Gildor’s reply was both swift and hopeful, and he glanced at Maedhros to be sure he would be in agreement with them relocating.

“We have several rooms upstairs,” Maedhros reminded Gildor obliquely. “Plus the rooftop.” 

“A room, with walls, and a door, please,” requested Nasarion, whose confidence wavered slightly.  “For talking,” he added. “There are a few things that I…” He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh and lowered his voice.  “The two of you are the first married gay men who have not pretended not to be married gay men. And before you cite Master Findekano, or Master Eresse, or… well, there were rumors, but confirmation only happened a few days ago, to be honest, because they just-- sorry, can we find that room?” he hissed as another bout of laughter swept out through the door.

Once more, Gildor looked to Maedhros for guidance.

“Come,” Maedhros said, rising silently and padding to the stairs. Yet another round of mirth muffled any possibility of their movements being observed by any of the others. Up the stairs, he ushered them into the library and closed the door. “We can speak privately in here.” He waved Nasarion toward a chair, watching with amusement while Gildor belly-flopped on the makeshift bed still on the floor.

Instead of sitting, Nasarion paced slowly, semi-distracted by all of the books in the room.  “I really prefer none of my coworkers find out what I am going to tell you, but I know you are friends with my supervisor, so…”  Nasarion had a bit of a nervous twitch happening with his lip and nose, which he rubbed at before continuing. “Most of the people I work with, they come from really nice families.  Lots of money, take care of things… and, advanced schooling can be… expensive. I used to be an intern, sure, not that long ago. I…” Nasarion found his way to a chair. “I have no idea why I feel the need to get into all this,” he mumbled.

“To be perfectly honest,” said Gildor, “it is nice to know a little more than someone’s name before… uhm...things,” he settled on, feeling slightly uncertain as to where Nasarion was taking the conversation.

Maedhros found the beginning of the tale to be meritorious, and possibly more appealing than what might follow. “Go on,” he coaxed. “We are listening. Nor will we betray your confidence, if that is what you wish of us.”

“I came here on scholarship, worked as an intern, and when I finished my schooling, I was supposed to go back.  I had no desire to do that, because the library is my home, and the people there are my family, and…” Nasarion took a breath.  “I thought maybe I would find some work in town to help me advance my studies, and I did a few odd jobs, and then…” Nasarion rubbed his face with his hands before he looked up again.  “I was pulling weeds for this man, and he… had a sort of ‘odd job’ for me in the house, and by that evening, I figured out I am gay.” Nasarion cleared his throat. “Then, when I was leaving, he gave me a lot more money than what we agreed for the weeds.  A few days later, a friend of his came by the library to see me… anyhow, long story short, I found a way to pay for my schooling, and, I found out I like a lot of different… things. And, there are some things I am not so keen about, but I tried them anyhow.  Uhm. So. Telling you all this because, I finished my studies, a position was open, I was appointed, but I kept on with the… extracurriculars for a little while, because in all honesty, the money was good, and I enjoyed the excitement. Then I had an encounter where… see, I thought it was going to be one person, it had always been just one person, and he had four of his friends there, and I managed to slip out not too far in.  And that scared me off from it. But, uhm, tonight, with the touching by the door, and the things you were saying,” he said to Gildor, “made me think, maybe just trying something with someone for fun and not for economic gain could be nice. A situation where I can say no and stop at any time in a place that is safe and comfortable, instead of an alleyway or a dark basement. And then, when you said the bit about knowing what sort of boy I am, I thought, shit, were you one of my clients?  So… anyhow… take all that however you will.”

“That took courage, to tell us,” Maedhros answered slowly. “I...those are not choices I could have made, but if you did these things freely--were not coerced or abused--it is not my place to criticize. Our path is not an easy one to walk. I admire that you found your way through.” 

“Well, and, I guess maybe, I feel like I turned back around from the dead end, but I am still wandering around trying to find the path.  What I mean is, it would be nice to be able to talk to people who are not my boss who understand this, even if zero other things happen. And… I am really open to other things happening.  Provided, not like, surprise orgy or something. One person is nice, two people seems like it would be-- but not a group. Um… your rules seem more than fair. I just… I hate surprises, so I like to know the plan ahead of time, and… really, that is the important part for me.”

“I used to have quite a robust sex life myself,” Gildor revealed to Nasarion.  “Experimenting can be nice. However, safety is very, very important, too.” Gildor shifted his gaze to Maedhros.  “If, by chance, you found a really nice couple who was willing to impart wisdom and give advice, and occasionally canoodle, that might be an ideal situation.”  For a moment, Maedhros’ gray eyes lowered and shifted away, sending a stab of worry though Gildor. “Mae Mae, I--”

“Quiet,” Maedhros commanded, rising again. He bent down low to kiss the crown of Gildor’s head and then came around to Nasarion--and did the same, even embracing him lightly around the chest while doing so. Then he re-seated himself, facing Nasarion. Carefully, he hooked two of his long fingers under the youth’s chin, raising his head to examine him more closely. Maedhros saw in Nasarion struggle, hope, pride, a little fear, but most of all eyes unclouded by ages of care and grief. “Our circumstances are not fully settled. It may be that we will dwell here for some time to come, or not. If you can accept that temporary uncertainty, then know you are welcome and that what my mate has offered has my blessing. I like you, Nasarion. You remind me of many things.” With a soft caress of his thumb Maedhros removed his fingers, giving a genuine and rare smile.

“I can handle uncertainty,” Nasarion said in a self-assured voice.  “I just--I jumped right into all of it. I was doing things I had no names for, I encountered people for one night and never saw them again, and I rarely had names to put with faces.  If I even had a good look at the faces,” he admitted, and was not shy about these facts. He seemed to notice this and added, “Obviously I do not go blurting this out to everyone, but--I just feel like I can trust both of you.  Weird, but, well, nice.”

“We have our own stories,” Maedhros admitted as Gildor relocated to perch on the arm of Nasarion’s chair. “Someday perhaps we shall share some of them. But I think storytelling was not the start of this conversation. At least, it was not what Gildor had in mind.” Moving yet again, he leaned across Nasarion to give Gildor a passionate kiss. His right arm hugged Nasarion toward him, and his left hand caressed his mate’s crotch, appreciating what he already found there. “Is that not correct, sweetling?” A gentle nip and lingering tug on Gildor’s lower lip ended his embrace.

“Mmm...yesss…”  Gildor sighed and looked between both of the handsome men sitting in the room with him.  “I think I must have a teeny, tiny thing for redheads.”

Only now did Nasarion glance at Maedhros’ long, red locks and declare, “Oh, huh, both of us are gingers.  How interesting.”

Gildor gave a little whine and whispered to Maedhros quite loud enough for Nasarion to hear, “I want to put this one in my pocket, too.  But, in a different way. Oh, can we please go to the bedroom now?” he asked with a little pout.

“Yes,” Maedhros answered. “I just hope you have a plan for Nasarion’s pleasure, because I know that I am going to fuck you quite hard when we reach our destination. Possibly more than once. I look forward to experiencing your solution, dearest. Your solutions have never failed to satisfy.”

Only now did Nasarion show any hint of shyness, and it was explained thusly: “I have never seen anyone fuck someone else before.  Or, be fucked, for that matter. I never even knew about ‘fucking’ or ‘gay’ or ‘anal sex’ before I got to this island. I have always wondered a little at how it is for two men to really love each other.”

“Oh, sweetiepie honeychild,” Gildor cooed as he pulled Nasarion up to his feet with both hands.  “You have never really lived until you have heard the true cries of blissful passion shared betwixt lovers joined in body and soul.  Do we have a show for you.” He winked at the young ellon and then giddily tugged him out of the library and down the hall. Maedhros trailed behind them, fingering a bottle of oil he found on the floor of the library from the other night.

####  Late Evening of Day 12

  
  


“Is there anything else I can help with?”

“Thank you, Harmacullo, I think we have everything under control.  I really appreciate your help,” said Erestor, who had managed to gather up every last cup and plate with Harmacullo’s help, wash them, and put them away.  “Thank you so much for bringing those wonderful desserts, too.”

“It was my pleasure!”  Harmacullo now turned to Glorfindel, who was putting away the last jar of spices.  “You said that you visit the market on the first and third weeks of the month, correct?”

“Yes, though if I do not have enough paintings to sell, then I skip that week.  I will be there this coming week, though,” said Glorfindel. “I have some orders that were placed and need to deliver them before the cruise boat sails again.”

“And it is alright if I stop by with questions if you are not busy?” asked the archivist.

Glorfindel nodded.  “That would be nice to help break up the day.  I get rushes of people when the ships come in, with lots of gaps in between.”

“Perfect!  And I will bring those documents with me so that you can tell me if you think they are authentic or not.”  Harmacullo now moved to Fingon and gave him a little bow. “Thank you for a splendid party.”

“Thank you for coming.”  Fingon showed Harmacullo back to the front door, and waved when he left.  He shut the door and rubbed his head as he walked back to the kitchen.

“Sweetheart, do you still have your headache?” Glorfindel asked, concerned. “Please come here to me?”

Split between reluctance and discomfort, Fingon approached and nodded.  “It was worse when I woke up this morning.” He was still rubbing his head.

“Some of the medicine for pain is still here, from when I was hurt,” Glorfindel insisted. “Erestor can bring the packets here. The herbs are older but I am certain they still work a little.”

“Erestor is leaving the room,” the dark ellon joked, mostly so happy to see that for the moment their harmony was restored. 

“Now sit, so I can massage you.” Glorfindel pulled a chair over and placed the seat facing away from him, pointing to it in case somehow there was any doubt as to what he wanted. For just a few seconds, Fingon hesitated, then bowed his head and did as he was asked, submitting to his husband’s initial touches on his neck and shoulders. “I hope you know it is my great privilege, to help you. Every time you allow yourself to be aided, you grant me an opportunity for happiness.”

“I do not want to be a burden.  I know, I know, you are going to admonish me and say I am not, but I think some of this comes from my childhood.  I was expected to take care of the younger ones, and when I needed something, I was sometimes told that I should be able to do something on my own on account of my age, so I just stopped asking.”  Fingon relaxed and closed his eyes. “That feels really good.” He rehearsed what he wanted to say in his head several times before he continued with, “I get a lot of headaches. I try not to complain about them, but this one has been making my feel sick and dizzy.”

“I never want you to fail to tell me of one again. I shall be very angry. I may not always be able to do this for you, but I want to know. This is so important to me, love.”

Erestor returned. “Do you think I could heat up the water without ruining it?” he asked, feeling very uncertain but wanting to help.

“I do,” Glorfindel told him. “Kettle full of water, warm part of the stove. You can do it. Just tell me when you have set it in place.”

Nodding happily, Erestor scuttled off, leaving the medicines within Glorfindel’s reach.

“I want you to lean your head back into my hands and then let your neck go limp. Then I can use the weight of your head to help you.” When he had compliance, he expertly moved his thumbs and fingers over the sensitive and thin muscles at the base of the skull, rubbing over and over until they went from painful to ordinary.    
  
“I did it,” Erestor returned to dutifully report. “Nothing exploded.”

“And my head feels less like it is going to explode,” mumbled Fingon.  “Do you think we could continue this in bed?”

“Yes, of course. Eres can see you there, and I will mix the medicine and bring it to you. I am certain it will not take long; the water only needs to be lukewarm.

Upstairs went Fingon and Erestor, and once in the bedroom, Erestor aided Fingon in removing his clothes.  Pillows were fluffed, and Erestor adjusted the bedding so that Glorfindel would be able to sit with his back against the headboard when he arrived.  While waiting, Erestor did his best to massage Fingon’s temples, knowing he was not as adept as Glorfindel. “I hope this helps a little,” he said softly.

“More than you know,” Fingon said.  “Thank you, cupcake.”

Erestor leaned down to kiss Fingon’s brow.  “My pleasure, sweetness.”

It could not have been five more minutes before Glorfindel ascended the stairs and offered Fingon the medicine. “I hope this will help you. I added in a little ginger to help your stomach but not too much. I was afraid it would be overwhelming and too hard to drink. Once you finish it I will gladly tend to you more. We have scented oils up here, perhaps a nice lavender to help soothe you.”

“Lavender sounds nice,” Fingon said as he sat up.  It took more than one try at draining the vessel to finish the drink, but he persevered and soon was lying down again.  “Thank you for tending to me.”

Glorfindel by now had changed to his lightest sleeping pants and ensured that Fingon was comfortable. “Ress, you remember how sometimes I would massage your hands when you had been writing all day? Do you think you can try that, with his left hand? I will care for his feet. This is meant to be gentle, something to help him fall asleep.”

Erestor nodded, and positioned himself. If nothing else, the smell of the oil was wonderful. All but two candles were extinguished, and talking ceased. Still Glorfindel and Erestor talked on in thought, caressing and touching until they were beyond sure that Fingon had fallen into a sound sleep. Glorfindel declined to mention that he had mixed the medicine to a rather strong dose. Fingon needed the rest, and that was one means by which to guarantee that he would have it.  Irmo aided them, and soon Fingon had drifted into a peaceful, deep slumber. The events of the day made it very easy for Erestor and Glorfindel to each snuggle in on each of Fingon’s sides and soon all three were cuddled together, each dreaming of better times to come.

  
  
  



	13. Day 13

####  Afternoon - Day 13

Gildor sat down on one of the stools near the pool and traced a finger around the white spot painted on the toadstool themed seat.  His hair was messily braided and his eyes squinted a little from the sunlight. “I think we need to have more parties.”

“You would,” answered Glorfindel.  He was lounging in the hammock with a book, his rectangular and most practical pair of spectacles perched on his nose.  Erestor, Maedhros, and Fingon were sitting at the table already, playing a game of cards which they dealt Gildor into. 

“Are you sure you do not want to play?” Gildor asked Glorfindel as he looked at his hand.

“We already asked him,” said Maedhros.  “He has been very intently reading that book all morning.”

“It must be something fascinating,” Gildor said as he poured himself a glass of juice from the pitcher on the table.

“Just a book with questions on getting to know someone,” answered Glorfindel.  “It can be used to get to know coworkers, classmates… even lovers.”

Gildor sorted through his hand.  “Sure. We use things like that to test personalities.  The questions must be very interesting. Can you share one with us?”   
  


“Uh…”  Glorfindel flipped through to a random page.  “This one says, ‘What is the most desirable body part of your bonded partner or lover?’.”  Gildor began to open his mouth, but Glorfindel continued with, “It further states to avoid selecting anything unseemly.”

A snort came from Erestor.  “Who wrote this book? Thaladir?”

Glorfindel flipped back to the front of the book.  “The name credited is ‘Tharnir’.”

“That is Thaladir’s great uncle,” Erestor informed him as he played a card in his hand.

“Well, there you have it,” said Glorfindel.

“Now I will have to reconsider my answers for all of you,” said Gildor.

A four was flipped to the center by Maedhros, who used his mouth to pull the cards from his hand.  “Why would you have to think of answers for anyone except me?” he asked.

“Well, of course, we are bonded, but now that we have this… strange relationship we are developing, I would think it fair I come up with answers for everyone.”  He paused, and then added, “If the question had no restrictions, it would be penises all around.”

“That just sounded so odd to hear you say,” said Fingon.

“You should never be surprised to hear me use the word penis, whether as a noun, verb, or adjective.”  Gildor flipped over the next card in the center and tossed an eight over it.

“A verb-- no, wait, do not--”

“He penised me with his penisy penis,” said Gildor without waiting for permission.

“Gildor, no,” Maedhros scolded, while Fingon made a gagging sound.  “I wonder what my answers would be. Not the same as Gildor, I can assure you of that.”

“I know what mine would be, and none of them are penises.”  The words tumbled from Fingon’s lips before he could stop them, and all attention was now focused on him.  He tossed a queen to the center, and looked up to see that even Glorfindel was peering at him from the hammock.

“Do tell,” said Gildor.  “And please, be as descriptive as possible.  You may use my adjective if you like.”

“Gildor, stop,” hissed Maedhros, but then to Fingon he said, “We await your grand decree, sire.”

Fingon rolled his eyes.  “Now I feel pressured.”

“You are under no obligation to answer,” said Erestor as he reached out and patted Fingon’s hand.

Fingon turned his hand so that he and Erestor had their fingers entwined a moment before Fingon slid his fingertips up along Erestor’s arm.  “Your arms,” he said quietly, running his hands along them. “I always feel safe when you hold me.”

“Do me next!” announced Gildor excitedly.

Maedhros shook his head.  “Phrasing, Gildor.” Gildor offered a look of innocence, eyelashes fluttering, that told everyone that he said it exactly as he meant to.

“Your hands,” said Fingon, choosing to ignore the comment.  “I have seen you juggle, play harp, and weave flowers into hair, and your fingers are so dextrous.  You take great care in your hands as well; unlike mine, yours are soft and always well manicured, and you adorn them so beautifully.”  While Fingon spoke, Gildor admired his hands, looking at the jewelry he had picked for that day. The rings caught the sunlight, and he smiled at the compliment.

“I can wait to hear mine,” said Maedhros.  “Tell Glorfindel what you most desire of him.”

Glorfindel was now sitting up, steadying himself in the hammock.  The book was discarded in his lap as he listened. Fingon turned to look his way and said, “I almost hesitate to say it.”

“Is it his--” And a moment later, Maedhros had his hand clamped tightly over Gildor’s mouth.

“Please,” said Maedhros.  “Continue. Ignore this one.”

“Yes,” insisted Glorfindel, a flutter in his stomach.  “Please continue.”

“I suppose it is quite obvious, but the physical attribute, to me, that is most desirable is your hair.  I love to nuzzle it and smell it and bury my face in it when I kiss the top of your head,” said Fingon. “Not in some overly sexualized manner, either.  It is just so part of who you are, and it mesmerizes me. I have great reverence for your hair.”

“Thank you,” said Glorfindel bashfully.

“What of Maedhros?” asked Erestor.

A hint of pink colored Fingon’s cheeks.  “I hope it will not seem too unseemly, but as for Maedhros…”  Fingon looked across the table to him. “It would be your lips, for they are soft and full, and give life to the words you speak, and they are the first I ever kissed.”

Maedhros smiled at Fingon.  “I think I would say the same for you, but for another reason entirely.  While so many others express with their eyes, you managed to channel some of those emotions through your lips.  I also do not forget that your smiles are rare, and I cherish those bestowed upon me.”

Fingon sat quietly, in part for it being his turn and his hand being quite foul with the exception being the queen he had already played.  When he spoke, it was to say, “Only Asfaloth knows about that.”

“Oh, Fin,” sighed Maedhros.  “You really need to be accompanied by a guidebook that details the care and keeping of a Fingon.”

“There are times I would give a great deal if you would write it for us,” Glorfindel muttered, realizing how true those words were. A mental note was made, to extract the necessary information from his horse later on.

“These questions could make for a fun party game,” said Gildor as he won the round and tossed his remaining cards to the center.  Fingon began to gather the cards together so that they could be shuffled again. “What do you think, Maedhros?”

Maedhros was still on the previous topic.  “Chapter One: General care. Your Fingon comes with an extraordinary amount of hair.  Be sure to brush and braid it regularly. Fingons tend to adhere to a ridgid grooming schedule, but are known to sweat a lot, especially when engaging in some of their favorite hobbies, such as dancing and leaping around.  Frequent bathing is required in order to keep your Fingon smelling fresh.”

At this point, Fingon had stopped gathering cards and was simply glaring at Maedhros.  “Are you telling me I stink?”

“Only in between baths,” replied Maedhros sweetly.

“I love how he smells,” Erestor whined. “Not too many baths, please. Just, enough baths. Though I wish I was better at braids, like Gildor is.”

“All you really have to do is throw a bucket of water over him once or twice a day,” said Maedhros.  “Feeding and watering your Fingon. Fingons are very fussy when it comes to mealtime. Be sure to have ample roughage available, as Fingons have a tendency to otherwise lecture on the need for this in order to produce healthy bowel deposits.”

“Alright, but, that is true,” defended Fingon.  “Do you really want to talk about this right now?  Fine.” Fingon crossed his arms over his chest. “Your eat so much meat that your shit comes out in puddles.  Gildor, I hope you are taking notes.”

“Not really,” said Gildor carefully as Maedhros said, “At least I am never constipated because I decided to eat tree bark to prove a point and it went all wrong from there.”

“It was one time,” growled Fingon.

“Why do I feel as though I am drawn into a great and unimagined vortex of past eras. Like a Palantír into which I might gaze, except that everything I see will be more peculiar than the last?” Erestor asked.

  
“Oh, honey. You have no idea,” Gildor told him, patting his dark head. “They are just getting started. Here, I shall sit by you, and then we will all be sort of the audience. Boys, do you think we could move off of poop? How about...clothing? Surely there is something there as well?” Fussily, Gildor smoothed his tunic and rested his hands on his lap.

A challenging look was given to Maedhros.  “I want to hear this chapter, too,” said Fingon.  

Maedhros rubbed his hand against his leg.  “Chapter Two: Clothing your Fingon.” Maedhros grinned and tossed his hair over his shoulder with a grin, then rested his chin on his stump.

After a moment, Fingon got the joke.  “Ha ha. So funny.”

“I thought it was,” Maedhros said with a widening smile.

Erestor found himself growing irritable. “I want you to say something nice about him. I do not like making him the butt of every joke. He might not admit to you that it hurts, but it does. One little jab now and again is one thing. This is another. If you cannot do this for him then do it for me.” The speech had been forceful, even authoritative until the very last. Only on the final two words did an unintentional quaver appear in his voice that betrayed his real feelings. Erestor very suddenly seemed to fold in on himself, shoulders bowing forward and head drooping.

Gildor set his hand on Erestor’s shoulder and rubbed it.  He did not look particularly happy, either. “Mae Mae, I know you find this hard to believe, but I get it, and yet, I do not get it.”

Maedhros scratched the back of his neck.  “What part is confusing you?”

“You have nothing in the chapter because you mean you are not going to have him wear clothing.  But… I mean… what if I was jokingly writing the same book, but, for Glorfindel,” said Gildor. At the sound of his name, Glorfindel peeked up again from the hammock.  “What would your reaction be if I got to a chapter on clothing, and I made that same joke?”

Maedhros frowned.  “I am trying to follow you, but--”

“It would be funny if you… scarfs.  He likes scarfs. It would be funny if you went on about needing to provide him with numerous colorful scarves, of varying colors and styles, and a different set for each season.  That would be funny, because he wears a lot of-- you wear a lot of scarves, Fingon,” pointed out Gildor. “I love them, but, you like scarves. You accessorize your scarf with another scarf.  You wear them as belts and you twist two together and drape them around your neck, and you even braid them into your hair sometimes.”

“Guilty,” admitted Fingon.

“See, that is funny, because it is true, and I am just repeating a truth that is a little odd,” said Gildor.  “What you mention is… a little mean,” he settled on. “Or, suggestive, and either way, not as funny as the other things you started with.  Although… Mae Mae, you smell really foul when you come back from the forge, so I think you should stop throwing stones around on that point.”

Maedhros pushed his glass of water back and forth on the table.  “I have a lot of brothers,” he said as if this was not a known fact.  “That was brother humor.”   
  
“He is not your brother!” Gildor cleared his throat after his outburst.  “Mae Mae, next to me, you love him most of all. He is your… dammit, he is your previous husband.  There. There it is. Stop acting like a ten year old with a frog in his hand waiting to fling it at the object of his affection.”

Fingon set the cards down on the table, for his was beginning to bend them from how they were being held in his hands.  

Unexpectedly, Erestor rose, and walked uncertainly to Maedhros, seating himself on the edge of his lap. Sad brown eyes considered gray ones, and a trembling hand reached to tuck an errant strand of red hair behind an ear. “I want so much for him to believe he is loved. If you know him so well, then you should know best of all how much he struggles to believe he deserves anything good in this life. Please?”

“I do not know how anyone can deny anything to you, Tatannen.”  Maedhros smiled sadly and then looked at Fingon. “Chapter Four.  Having fun with your Fingon.”

“I am not sure if this is going to be better,” mumbled Fingon.  

“Fingons are remarkably good at games of all types,” said Maedhros.  “Highly competitive, you will want to have them on your team. Woe be the fellow who finds himself faced against a Fingon in archery or horse racing.  Fingons are adventurous, and apt to try new things and travel to new places without fear. A Fingon a day keeps boredom away.”

Smiling now, Erestor leaned in and kissed Maedhros chastely on the lips. “Thank you.” He rose, and returned to his seat. “You know, this is not the only story that is unfinished,” he mentioned quietly. “I think it should be read soon, before I lose what courage I have summoned to hear it all said and be done with it.”

Glorfindel now paid attention, recalling their earlier conversation. “He means the rest of the file from the clinic, if that was not obvious. I support this, for it is very hard for Ress to take this kind of initiative.”

“Should we bring it here, or return to the library?” asked Maedhros.

“Oh, shit!  The library!”  Gildor clamped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide and focused on Maedhros.  “I mean, the library sounds like a place we should not go until--”

“I thought you said you took care of that,” Maedhros cut in.

“Ahm… this would not have been a problem if we had stayed in the bedroom.  I think my words were ‘I should go take care of… that’, and then I… forgot,” Gildor said.  He was already standing up.

“You were much too loud last night for us to stay in the bedroom,” reminded Maedhros.  “I think you should unforget and take care of that thing before--”

“On it!” Gildor raced off, back into the cottage.

“Why am I nearly certain that this is some sexual escapade gone awry?” Fingon asked with a deep sigh. “We also need to discuss more than the clinic. You coming to live with us has been batted around almost since your arrival. Is that really what you want to do?” he asked Maedhros. “I mean, no pressure, but if us being a family is going to be a thing then I think we need to discuss all the things like that thing so that things are things we can all live with. Without surprise things.” He rubbed his forehead. “What even is my life?”

“Now love...that was very well said,” Erestor praised. “You married us, and life has...well, things.”

“Things,” echoed Glorfindel, who could not argue, as much as he felt like he should try.

“I think that Gildor and I have to have a discussion about our future -- that is, where we see ourselves going.  We loosely went over the pros and cons, but in doing so, we realized that he and I have varying goals in life, which I did not realize,” said Maedhros.

“I fully respect your relationship and your right to autonomy,” Erestor told Maedhros. “But while he is yet absent, I feel obligated to point out one thing. Gildor has made a stunning turnaround, in stopping his drug use. I equally praise you for stopping your use of alcohol as a coping mechanism.  It might seem like Gildor has succeeded, but trust me this is only the first stage. If, when, you return to your usual lives, that is when the pull to use again will become the strongest. Here he is in a clean environment, away from all the many things that triggered his using. I swear to you I am speaking of his interests and not my own in saying this. There is a reason I failed more times than I have fingers and toes. Even now…” he shook his head. “My strength is in being here and in my spouses. Were any of those supports to be removed I know I would be at risk again. The craving never really goes away.”

“Maybe that alone addresses the greatest concern we have,” said Maedhros.  “You see, I am a very free spirit. I like to be mobile; I have a large family that I like to visit.  Gildor has wandered around with me for a long time now, and until this past week, I was unaware that he has had a desire for some time now to have a place to settle down.  My house is not a particularly functional home. There is no true kitchen, there is no back yard, it is on a main road, and it is noisy, and all Gildor wants is a place with a few people he is close to and a nice lawn for his dogs to run and his giant rat to lounge, where he can lure people back into his palm so he can grab someone’s butt now and then.  He is kind of a dirty old man in that regard, and I love him for that. We love each other deeply, but we have very different ideas on how we should go about things. I have long worried about the times when he stays at my home and I travel, and this would give me peace of mind, and give him companionship when I am not around. I just do not want anyone to think I am just ditching him for months at a time.”

“I want to ask you a very blunt question, Mae” Glorfindel interjected. “I of all persons--beside yourself--know of the level of Gildor’s sexual desire. Might I inquire how he satisfies himself in your absence? Because I still fear that--well, again, being blunt...I worry that his libido will make life intolerable for Fingon, who has very different needs and proclivities, and I cannot have my husband being made to feel constantly disturbed in his own home.”

“I am not sure if I would be constantly disturbed, so much as, I might punch him in the face if he barks up my tree at the wrong time, if you get my drift,” said Fingon.

Maedhros retrieved his glass of water.  “We have a slightly different set of rules for when I am not there.  He goes to the baths, and he has a list of men he keeps company with when I am not around,” said Maedhros.  “We have a very good understanding as to what is allowable and what is not. I know that for the most part, he masturbates a lot, because he tells me so.  I also know that, for all his desire, if someone tells Gildor in no uncertain terms to stop, he will leave that person alone. He likes all of you.” Maedhros sipped his water.  “We… also sort of interviewed someone last night, I guess you might say, since all of the men he has kept company with in the past are on the mainland.”

“Please tell me it was not one of our staff,” Erestor said hopefully, groaning in mild dismay when Maedhros’ crooked smile confirmed his fear. “Who was it? We have to work with these people, you know.”

“The redhead that looks like a younger, happier, more well-adjusted version of me,” said Maedhros.

“Nestorion.” Fingon tried to process this, and found he could not. No, that was not right. Did not want to, was perhaps more accurate. 

“It is what it is,” Erestor said. “Hopefully he has the professionalism to do what we have always tried to--what happens here, remains here. Work is for work, and not for discussions of our intimate lives. Certainly I am not going to judge, as long as propriety is observed. And his name is Nasarion, love. I know it is confusing.”

“I said that,” mumbled Fingon, but even as he said this, Glorfindel was shaking his head at him.  “I got the first letter right,” he said. “And the last part. The cataloger,” he added. “I know he belongs to us.  The library. He is one of ours. And I swear, if Gildor--” Fingon suddenly paused. “Hold on. He was not at the party.  How did--”

“He was at the party,” Maedhros revealed.  “You were feeling unwell for the first half of dinner, and Nasarion went inside before you came out to spend time with those who were eating out here.  Not long after dinner, the three of us went up to the library for a ‘tour’. Pick your jaw off the ground, Fingon. I took dessert up to them when they were done, and breakfast before I came out here.  I am sure Gildor is… taking care of the rest now.”

“Let it go, love,” Erestor counseled. “Nasarion is of age, and apparently lustful. Gildor would never do anything not consensual, so I will give the benefit of the doubt that he was a willing participant in whatever happened.”

Grumbles emitted from Fingon, but he nodded in agreement.

“Sari gave Gildor a run for his money last night.  They were equally matched in sass and… other things.  The only reason Sari ended up being the one tied up is that they flipped a coin for it, and it was sheer luck.”  Maedhros drank more water. “He is very intelligent, and a rather good match for Gildor. That said, I do not believe it would be a long-term arrangement.  I think Gildor would have a preference to spend his time with those who are under this roof, if that were to be permitted.”

Erestor kept his gaze fixed down, whereas Glorfindel looked up to the sky. Neither of them seemed eager to respond. 

“Fingon? I am watching your husbands want to crawl under a rock because of what I have just said. I know, because they have both told me, that they would defer to your desires regardless of their own, though I believe it is more out of fear and shame than anything else. But it is also not my relationship, and I cannot force you to have this conversation if you refuse.” Maedhros’ words were caring, but very pointed. Erestor did indeed appear to want to crawl under a rock; he was visibly uncomfortable and now squirmed in his seat.

“There was a mention made of rules,” said Fingon.  “What are these rules that you and Gildor follow, Maedhros?”

“They are simple. No penetration, ever. I am not a polygamist, and will not tolerate him binding himself to anyone else. I have no issue with affection. Kissing, cuddling, snuggling; he can do that anywhere and with anyone he wishes--but anything beyond that, anything overtly sexual, Gildor does not do that alone. I am there, to witness or sometimes participate with my  mate. Finally, we communicate everything to each other, no matter how trivial something may seem.  That is all.”

“And those are the same rules as when you are not around?” asked Fingon.

“One and three still apply,” said Maedhros.  “Since I cannot possibly be there, and it would be like… putting Asfaloth into a pasture with twenty mares and telling him ‘be a good boy and sit still’, it is only that he reflect upon whether he thinks I would be against whatever pops into his head, and that he tell me when we next speak or communicate in some way what did go on so that I am not surprised when some random person greets us, winks at him, and asks if he is free that evening.”

Fingon looked at Erestor and Glorfindel.  “What say you?” he asked them.

Glorfindel was first to speak, when it became apparent that Erestor would not. “If you are asking, how would I feel about this were the choice only my own? I am not adverse to intimate encounters with Gildor. My sexual life with him was pleasurable for the most part. But I am terrified that by saying this, it might cause you to feel that you are other than one of the two most important men in my life. I would do anything for you. Forsake, anything for you. Your wish is law to me. I will speak for Erestor, for I know he is more filled with fear than I. He shares my feeling, but his desire not to displease you is such that he cannot even voice this answer.” 

Still Erestor said nothing, but with a trembling hand reached to take Fingon’s hand in his own. Bending low, he kissed the knuckles reverently. Though he tried to lift his head quickly enough, he did not evade one of his tears splashing on the stretched skin. Turning his head away, Erestor wiped at his eyes and tried to hide that he was crying.

“The words you speak make me feel like a monster,” whispered Fingon.  He crossed his arms and rested them on the table, slouching in a way the others were not accustomed to seeing him present himself.  “I like Gildor an awful lot.”

“What is possibly not to like?” Maedhros gave a crooked smile. “Fin, their words are not about you. The last thing they want is to make you feel like anything at all. Look at them. Married for years, and each destroyed what they had with the other because they failed to regard each other’s feelings about very important issues until it was too late. Can you not understand their terror at the idea of making the same mistake? They love you.”

“Fine, not a monster.  A tyrant, then. You say it is not about me, but the fear and anxiety, the trembling, crying, silence… this is not how it should be.  It should be…” Fingon shook his head and looked at the top of the table and discarded pile of cards. “It should be warm, and exciting, and giddy… an old friend, a love of the past, here perhaps awhile, and understanding between us all.”  He waved a hand as if there was more to say but he would leave it at that. “Your rules seem more than fair. They have served you well. I think we should try that, if all of you and Gildor approve.”

“I am so sorry,” Erestor sobbed, unable to stopper his emotions any longer. “I feel greedy.”

“What?”  Fingon groaned, and rested his forehead on the table.  “I thought that was the right answer for once!”

“Ress, no,” Glorfindel said. “You are just overwrought. There is nothing wrong with feeling desire. Please, there is no need for this.”

The dark head nodded. “T-tr-trying,” he wailed. Glorfindel held Erestor and shook his head at Fingon. 

“Please come and hold him,” Glorfindel begged. “It was the right answer, Káno. He is just scared. We all have our own demons.”

Fingon looked from the hammock to the chair and set his head back down on the table again.  There was a very long pause, and it was hard to tell if Fingon just intended to ignore everyone or if he was going to say something.  Maedhros was suddenly out of his chair before there was a reaction from anyone else, and Fingon straightened up, only to bow his head back down rather quickly, face headed for the top of the table.

“No!”  Maedhros had Fingon tackled to the ground before Fingon’s nose could make impact, and while there would be scrapes and bruises, it was a better outcome than what might have been.  “No… no…” Maedhros repeated it over and over while Fingon struggled to hit himself or thrash against the legs of the table. When the outburst of destructive energy was spent, Fingon turned his head to the side in defeat while Maedhros continued to pin him to the ground on top of the fallen chair.  “Hey… are you back? Can you hear me, Fin?” Maedhros gently shook Fingon until Fingon’s head turned again. Golden eyes blinked and focused, and when the daze wore off, Fingon turned his head again shamefully and began to sob. Maedhros pulled him up, but kept them sitting on the ground, and cradled Fingon.  “Chapter Five,” he said once he had Fingon crying softly against his shoulder in sheer embarrassment, “How to prevent and recuperate from sudden catastrophic episodes.”

Erestor had ceased crying only long enough to watch what unfolded in utter horror. “Noooooo!” he wailed, flailing to try to reach the struggling pair while Glorfindel, distracted, almost let Erestor slip from his grasp. Almost. They too ended up on the ground, with Erestor fully panicked and trying to escape Glorfindel to reach Fingon.

“Ress, it is alright,” Glorfindel tried to reassure, but to little avail. With the dark ellon’s long limbs seemingly everywhere, at best Glorfindel acted as a drag, only slowing Erestor’s progress. When Erestor reached Fingon’s legs, he clasped them in his arms, hugging them and sobbing. 

“I am s-s-sorry! So sorry, Káno. Please, please do not be sad! I will do better, I did not mean for this--” 

No more could be discerned as Glorfindel gave up and crawled to where he could rub Erestor’s back and Fingon’s all at the same time. “Eru bless you,” the blond told Maedhros, wondering how he was ever going to be a good husband to Fingon when there was so much he did not perceive. Maedhros had so much more experience and could see what he did not, and there was little to be done about it. Feeling suddenly bone-weary, awareness crystallized in Glorfindel’s mind that sum of their problems was beyond any of them. Closing his eyes, his lips moved in silent prayer, begging for aid, as a few stray tears of sorrow and empathy for his mates trickled down his cheeks.

After their emotion was spent, Glorfindel and Maedhros helped Erestor and Fingon up. No words were shared as they retreated upstairs to the library, where blessedly Gildor had the good sense to erase all traces of whatever may have transpired the night before. Glorfindel cocked an eyebrow at the fresh addition of lavender and mint scented oils, taking a cautionary sniff before rolling his eyes. Maedhros bit his lip and shrugged, which was as much of an apology as was likely to be forthcoming. Moments later all four of them were ensconced in their little cozy spot, though this time no one locked the door.

“I feel stupid,” Erestor finally said. “And I know all of you will tell me not to feel that way but, I mean it, I do not understand. I was fine and then I was so afraid and then something snapped and I cried and now I cannot even see why I was so upset. Am I going mad?” He reached to lay a hand on Fingon. “I never wanted to upset you, love. I feel disappointed in myself, though I suppose that is not right either.”

“If you are mad then so am I,” Glorfindel told Erestor. “I have done and felt all those things.” He crawled to Erestor, and there they all reclined in a huddled row-- Maedhros, Fingon, Erestor and Glorfindel. 

This was how Gildor discovered them.  “Should I ask?” He settled down beside Maedhros as his gaze swept over the others.

“Probably not,” Maedhros said softly.  He was rocking Fingon, stroking his hair and humming to him, and resumed this.  Fingon, of all of them, appeared the most distant, and it was hard to tell if he was really listening to what was going on, or if he had zoned out on them.

“Sweetheart, are you angry at me?” Erestor asked, almost sort of pawing at him a little. “I would do anything to make it right for you. I am ashamed.”

“Ress,” Glorfindel said, sitting up more now. “Love, he is struggling. Just like you sometimes have. Where it is hard to think or know what to say because too many difficult things are all balled up inside. He loves you and he is not ignoring you...but he might not be able to talk right now.”

“Is this what I did to you, for all those years?” Erestor asked Glorfindel, looking up at him with large, sad eyes.

Glorfindel hesitated, then nodded. “I loved you. So I tried to find a way.”

“He thinks he is beyond redemption,” whispered Maedhros.  “I have seen this in him before. When I as well enough, after the kinslayings, after he saved me -- that was the first time.  When his father died, he blamed himself, and that was one of the worst. Maglor and I thought we would not get him to his coronation in one piece.  When he came back, though, that has been difficult. I was with him in the halls when they pulled him from there. I do not think he was fully healed when they forced him to leave.”

Erestor gained a strange look on his face, and sat up much straighter, speaking at first to Maedhros. “I do not often say this, but I am not only an elf. We were blessed in marriage by Eru himself. How is it he could believe he is not worthy of redemption, when Eru permitted his union with one of his own grandchildren? Fingon, you have no greater evidence that your belief is false than...us. He has given us to each other. How can you think you are beyond salvation? I need you, love. And you need me. And Fin. And Maedhros and Gildor. You promised me, Findekáno. And I will not release you from it.” The slender fingers grasped the strong jaw, and turned the listless eyes to look into his own. Erestor’s lips descended, and pressed a searing kiss full of love onto Fingon’s. The gesture was insistent, and given in expectation of an answer.

Fingon blinked a few times, like someone waking from a dream.  He stared at Erestor, looked away, and then back again. He reached out for Erestor, and was quickly taken into his arms.  Maedhros sat back with a sigh as Erestor gathered Fingon against him and soothingly stroked Fingon’s back. Fingon’s voice quivered as he made a plea to Erestor that finally caused Maedhros to relax.  “Help me,” Fingon said softly.

“I will, baby. I pray that there is something Gildor could tell me. Tell us. I am not trained in how to heal the mind--I mean, look at me. I commit to asking for help for myself. And for you, and even Fin. I have been the worst example of all, but no more. I will find my courage. And I will find yours too. My brave, perfect husband. I love you so much.” Erestor held him tightly. “We killed a dragon once, Fin. Remember?”

“Uhm, actually I kind of try to forget that one,” Glorfindel frowned. “But, yes. It happened.”

“Good,” Erestor said smugly. “Then this will be no problem.”

Gildor frowned at the logic, and tried to think of something else to say.

A sniffle turned into a sob followed by a stream of tears and the blubbered words, “I could not kill the dragon.  He was just a baby! He was so little. I failed so many people.”

“You drove him back,” Maedhros said firmly.  “You did more than most did in facing him.”

“And the balrogs -- I should have been smarter than that.  I should have--”

Maedhros moved around so that he could see Fingon’s face, and took hold of his jaw firmly with his hand.  “We are not here to attend some self-loathing pity-party you are creating. We are sitting here with you because we love you and we are worried sick about you, and if we have to tie you to the bed for the rest of your life to get you to stop hurting yourself, then I will go get the rope right now.”  He let go of Fingon’s jaw. “All you should do right now is accept this love and affection from your husbands. Put the rest of it out of your mind. Gildor, go get the documents. We need to finish reading the poisonous words on those papers. Erestor has waited long enough for them.” Gildor nodded and quietly went to retrieve the envelope.

With his whole body trembling, Fingon lowered himself down so that he was awkwardly curled up with his head resting on Erestor’s knee.  Glorfindel joined them, casting his sympathetic gaze on Fingon. One hand was placed on Fingon’s shoulder while Glorfindel put his other arm around Erestor. 

_ It will be okay, Káno. I will tell you once again that I give you my word on this, and I do not do that lightly. I will not fail you. Do as Maedhros bids. Be here with us. Let us shoulder your burdens. Think of nothing other than that we love you.  _ Aloud, he cleared his throat. “I would ask something else. I can feel Káno’s suffering. His anxiety. Gildor, you had a medicine that helped me--got me past the very worst of a terrible day. I am asking if my husband can have some of that. Just enough to help him, because he will never ask on his own. Please?”

Fingon looked up at Glorfindel, some part of him starting to protest.

“No, love. Surrender to me. Trust me, and believe that I would never lead you astray.” Glorfindel’s grip on Fingon’s arm tightened, just a little. Defeated, Fingon’s head lowered back to Erestor’s knee, and he nodded in assent. Glorfindel returned his gaze to Gildor. “If you tell me this is wrong, I will defer to you. I only wish to help him, before the reading commences. He is in so much pain.  I can feel it radiating from him, even before all that just happened.”

Gildor stooped down to look Fingon over.  “Fingon, let me see your hand please,” he coaxed, for the hand that had been bandaged a few days earlier was still, and appeared slightly swollen under the wrappings.  Glorfindel’s injuries, though seemingly more severe, had already healed. Fingon shifted so that he could stretch his arm out to Gildor. As Gildor unwrapped it, he cringed.  “I need to clean these abrasions. You have an infection. I am not sure how it is infected like this, perhaps overuse these last few days. I am going to gather supplies, and, I would like to administer something else that will help to relax you and alleviate your pain, because this is probably what has been causing your headaches.  Infection raises the pumping of the heart, and… let me explain after I have returned,” he decided when Fingon whimpered from Gildor’s examination. He left quickly, enlisting Maedhros to aid him in bringing the necessary items back.

“It is alright, baby,” Erestor soothed. “We will take care of you, and it will feel better soon.” 

Softly, he began to sing an indistinct song that Glorfindel suspected was meant more for Fingon’s thought alone, and did not begrudge what was being done. Some phrases could be caught, about not leaving him alone, caring for him, and...whatever the exact sentiment, it appeared to be calming Fingon somewhat. The blond ellon could only look on in pity, for he knew how awful this pain could feel, and how consuming the despair. It was hard to watch.

Fingon’s breathing calmed, though he still shuddered every few breaths, swallowing back what tears he could.  “Thank you,” he managed softly as one verse ended and before another began. “Thank you. Both of you.”

“Cry if you need to, love,” Glorfindel. “I am here and I see it as a sign of your strength. It is not weakness. I know that now, because you taught me.” He meshed his thought with Fingon’s as much as he dared, hoping he provided reassurance, comfort, and above all the knowledge of shared love.

“Just so tired,” mumbled Fingon.  “So tired.” He stopped attempting to quell his emotions, and now he shook with less force as the tears flowed more freely.  “I am cold,” he whispered. “I am sorry. Glorfindel, I am so sorry that I hurt you,” Fingon said, and he lifted his injured hand slightly in case it was not evident what he was referring to.

“Thank you for your words, love. It was a small thing. We will seek help. I am the one who is sorry, to know you are in such mental and spiritual pain and have no skills by which to help you heal. But we have Mae and Gildor; that is a blessing.” Glorfindel shook out blankets he could reach, and covered his lover. Then he released Erestor to move to the other side, so that both their bodies could warm him.

Downstairs, the gathering of supplies, towels, water, food, and anything else Gildor could think they might need had alerted the guest who had yet to leave.  Nasarion wandered out of the sitting room to watch the preparations happening, which were being staged in the kitchen. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Fine.  Just fine,” Gildor curtly answered.  He placed two rolls of linen into a basket currently containing disinfectant and salves.  That was when he noticed someone else was missing. “Where is Asfaloth?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.  Very chatty fellow,” remarked Nasarion.  “Quite odd answers to some questions, but spirited all the same.  Does he live here with all of you?”

Maedhros shrugged.  “He lives here. We do not live here.”

“Yet,” added Gildor.

Maedhros turned his head to regard Gildor.  “Yet,” he repeated.

“Ah, that must be why he went out to the stable then,” said Nasarion.  

Both Maedhros and Gildor exchanged a knowing look.  “What were you discussing before he left?” wondered Gildor.

Nasarion perched up on the edge of the table.  “This and that. Occupational things, and that led to horses, and if I had one, and I said yes, and--”

“Oh… oh, did you come here on horse?” asked Gildor.  Nasarion nodded. “Female horse?”

“Yes, if it matters,” Nasarion said, slightly confused.

Maedhros and Gildor exchanged the same look they previously had.  “Someone needs to have a talk with Asfaloth,” said Maedhros, and Gildor agreed, while Nasarion looked quite confused.  “I, uh… have a feeling you may need to wait a while before you leave,” said Maedhros.

“Quite alright.  Nowhere to go today, so long as I get home with enough time to sleep for my shift tomorrow.”  Nasarion pawed through the items in the basket. “Is everything alright upstairs?”

A warning look flashed from Maedhros to Gildor, and Gildor frowned and gave a half shrug and said, “They can all be mad at me in the end.”  He looked at Nasarion, sized him up, and stared him down. “You work quite closely with Fingon and Erestor, do you not?”

Slowly, Nasarion nodded.  “We have been working together for… well, quite some years.  I realized the other day that the only staff left from when Master Fingon and I began working together were the two of us and Erestor, though at the time, Erestor was a lecturer.  It was nice when Erestor joined us on staff at the library. I have always enjoyed his company for tea, and he never made our working relationship feel strange.”

“Strange?  How so?” asked Gildor.

“Well, being… do you know what I do there?” asked Nasarion.  When two heads shook negatively, he said, “I do all of the cataloging, but officially my title is assistant head librarian, so I am not only the assistant to the head librarian, which is Master Fingon, of course, but when he is away, it is my responsibility to keep the library running.  Erestor seemed very at ease with the idea that I am technically his supervisor after Master Fingon; I was always so sure he would want the position, so I was surprised to be chosen when it opened up a few years ago.”

“Mmmm… perhaps it is not so terrible for me to share what I am about to say with you after all,” said Gildor.  “I must have your word, though, that what I tell you does not leave this house. It is most important you keep it in confidence.”

“I have the highest regard for both Master Fingon and Erestor, no matter how I might tease them goodnaturedly,” said Nasarion.  “I anticipate your words will be serious, because this was certainly not your demeanor last night. Let us make a promise, then,” Nasarion suggested.  “I shall say nothing of what you tell me outside these walls, if you shall do the same for me regarding our encounter last night.”

“I have no intention of idly gossiping about the goings on in my bedroom.  Or, in a library I end up using as my bedroom,” Gildor hastily added.

“Nor would I,” Maedhros said solemnly.

A nod came from Nasarion, who said quite bluntly, “It is less for me, and more my circumstances and family.  When I came here to study, my parents came, too. I still live in the company of my parents, and my father is a philosopher of religious studies.  He works at the same place that I do, but he was only able to gain employment part time, hence, my circumstances with my schooling. I think that clearly explains my unease with events of my life becoming public.”

“Oh, my,” said Gildor.  “Well, for his sake, and that of your mother, and you, and all others--”

“What happens at the cottage of lost play stays at the cottage of lost play,” finished off Maedhros for him.  “I am curious, if you do not mind my asking -- what is your mother’s trade?”

“Oh, she is a healer.  I was far more interested in her work than what my father does when I was-- oh.  Are we going somewhere now?” Nasarion was pulled off of the table and handed a basket before he was nudged down the hall to the stairway.

“Since you know something of healing, I could use an extra pair of hands, and since I am about to tell you some of what is going on, it will be useful to have your assistance,” Gildor said.

Somehow Maedhros got ahead of the other two, and entered the library cautiously.  “How are things going?” he asked.

“He is cold,” Glorfindel said. “And bone-weary. Maedhros, how is he supposed to go to work like this tomorrow? I am sorry, whatever it costs us, I am going to put an end to this. If whoever it is that supervises that library is indeed going to fire him for an absence when he is this ill, then so be it. I will take a job cleaning stables if I must to earn money for us. He has not been well for days, and came home practically in agony after taking a grilling from his employer. I will not have it.”

Fingon groaned but was too weak to even argue. Plus, the tone of Glorfindel’s voice made it fairly obvious it would be useless anyway. 

“I think if there were better communication that would not be a problem,” Erestor said reflectively. “Everyone can be taken ill, and the headmaster is not a monster; I would lay money that whatever the problem was, he was not fully informed. Did you tell him you were sick, sweetheart?”

“Do you really need to ask him that, Ress?” Glorfindel queried. “I think we both know he just soldiered through whatever it was.”

Nasarion, who was standing at the door out of sight until now, moved forward and said, “He will not have to go in tomorrow.  I can cover for him and handle whatever tasks are necessary.” He took a few more cautious steps into the room, and when he saw Fingon’s hand, his eyes widened.  “How did you possibly manage working and a party with that, Master Fingon?”

“No titles here,” said Fingon wearily, a little uncertain how it came to pass that Nasarion was standing over him at that moment.  The young ellon was gently moved aside so that Gildor was able to come closer to Fingon. A few slow blinks of his eyes allowed Fingon to readjust his sight so that he could see Gildor setting up an impromptu workstation.  The first task consisted of mixing a few drops of this and a few drops of that into a long tube that appeared to have a spoon on the open end. Before he had much understanding of what Gildor was doing, his head was being lifted slightly and the spoon-end of the glass tube was pressed against his lips.  

“Open your mouth a little,” said Gildor with gentle insistence, and Fingon did so without asking why.  A moment later he knew the reason, and while Fingon tried to jerk away at the bitter taste, the tool Gildor used was effective in keeping the liquid from spilling anywhere except down his throat.  “Good job,” commended Gildor. “Give it a few minutes and you should feel the effects. I am going to wait until you do to continue with your hand, because I fear that the debridement is going to cause additional discomfort, though I promise you that when I have finished and dressed the wound, it will begin to feel better within a day or two -- provided you rest and follow my instructions.”

“He will,” Glorfindel soothed. Nothing more needed to be said; with two soft words it was understood that no other outcome would be permitted.

Now Nasarion crouched down beside Gildor.  “Tell me what I can do,” he said, and he and Gildor set to work preparing everything so that they could begin as soon as Fingon was suitably sedated.  

Gildor took charge of the next hour, from giving instructions to those who were not aiding him, to guiding Nasarion on how to assist as Gildor himself cut away dead skin and irrigated wounds.  A soothing paste was used to cover Fingon’s entire hand, and then it was wrapped securely, but not too tight. Finally, Gildor had brought along one of Fingon’s clean oven mittens, which he used to cover his work and provide a cushion to Fingon’s injuries.  “I want to know, if you had to rate the pain you are feeling right now, with zero being no pain and ten being a lot of pain, what number would you give it?” Gildor asked Fingon.

“About a six,” Fingon replied groggily.  He had gritten his teeth at some points during the procedure, which would have made it difficult for him to lie about.

“I am going to give you another measure of medicine,” said Gildor.  “After about fifteen minutes, I will check with you again. I will not be satisfied unless your number aligns with the absence of pain.”  Several more drops were placed into the tube, and this time Fingon squeezed his eyes shut, but did not shy away from taking the pain reliever.

“I think I could come back to work tomorrow,” Erestor said to Nasarion. “I know I could still stay out for a few more days from the injury I sustained, but I am eager to deflect any possible criticism from Fingon. I can ride there and will be fine.  I also do not want his absence to make for a stressful time for the staff if my attendance can prevent that.”

Unused bandages and ointments were being packed away into the baskets, and Nasarion looked up.  “I appreciate that, but since you have a limit to your hours for the week, stay here tomorrow. I will look at the schedules and determine the best days to have you help.”

“How will you get word to me?” asked Erestor.  “You will likely work late tomorrow.”

“Unless you think otherwise, it would be no trouble for me to come here following work,” said Nasarion.  “Even if it is late, I could deliver the message myself, and avoid the possibility of a gossipy courier or colleague.”

“And, he just wants to find another reason to come visit me,” Gildor teased, giving Nasarion a nudge.

“And the sounds of Gildor flirting means he is no longer worried,” said Maedhros.  “He must think your hand will be alright, Fingon.”

“Needsta readdnow. Do nofferget Eresh.”

Maedhros blinked, and thought about it for a moment. “We thank you so sincerely for your aid here, and for our family, Nasarion. I think what Fingon means is that before his injury came to light, we were about to have a family meeting. I do not mean to sound like I am dismissing you, but…”

“Oh Mae Mae, tsk. I was just getting started.”  Gildor batted his lover’s arm playfully.

“I know you were, love. That is why we should start our family meeting,” Maedhros smiled.

Gildor rolled his eyes. “Then I will see our delightful new friend to his horse,” he said, flicking his lovely hair over his shoulder.  Gildor linked his arm with Nasarion’s and threaded his other through the handle of the basket. “Say good day, Nasarion,” he advised.

“Good night, Nasarion,” the young elf offered with a smirk.

“Oh, fantastic, now I have two of them to contend with,” said Maedhros, but his expression did not seem to mirror that sentiment.  “Safe journey to you, Sari.”

It was only after Gildor was leading Nasarion back down to the first floor that Erestor questioned Maedhros.  “Sari? Just how well did the three of you get to know each other?”

“What?  Nicknames are very helpful.  His name is a mouthful to say when he has his mouth full, if you get my drift.”

Erestor did, but did not say so.  Glorfindel shook his head. Only Fingon offered verbalization that he understood what Maedhros meant.  “Sounslike it wenpass kisshingh.”

“Kissing was involved.  Among other things.” Maedhros sorted through the other basket to bring food to everyone and to set some out for Gildor’s return.  “He is a lovely fellow. I do hope to see more of him, though, I admit, I did get to see all of him last night.”

“I hope you know just how perfectly matched you are to Gildor,” said Erestor.

“Guilty,” Maedhros replied.  He set out the envelope and retrieved more pillows and generally made certain there would be little further delay in the process once Gildor returned.

“Well that was much quicker than I expected,” Glorfindel said approvingly as Gildor re-entered the room, bearing two plates, fruit and a knife and closed the door behind him.

Gildor shrugged. “I was pretty sure I had just seen Asfaloth literally dancing his way out of the stable and into the pasture and...I really did not want to have to explain any of ‘oh so sorry I guess our horse screwed your mare for a little longer than I thought he might, hope she has a really lovely foal. By the way, that dapper fellow you were speaking with is actually one of our horses.  Yes, he talks. No, you are not drunk. Alright, love you, buh-bye!’ I mean, we might as well have an icebreaker all ready to go for next time, right?”

“I realize I am no longer promiscuous,” Erestor murmured, “but that your words actually make logical sense disturbs me deeply on some level.”

“Mmm, Erri, that is just because you need a kiss.” Swiftly, Gildor stepped around to give Erestor a peck on the lips, which was accepted with good grace and humor. Then he settled himself to lean against Maedhros. Fingon was asked once again about any pain, and when Gildor received verification from Erestor that he was hearing the truth, he seemed finally content.  “Down to a one is a good sign. I want to keep it there or lower, but a full dose now would knock you out.” Gildor took one of the bottles and withdrew the stopper and rod attached to it which allowed smaller doses to be administered. “Can you stick out your tongue, Fingon?”

Fingon was not sure how he was supposed to feel, nor exactly how he did feel.  The best description he had was that he was floating -- not his body, but his being, and that while he was aware of pain as a concept, as he could feel the rawness of his hand and the slight pounding in his head, the discomfort from these were gone.  He felt as if he was opening his mouth, but his tongue was made of cotton and would not cooperate.

“Erestor, can you tilt his head back a little?”  Gildor hovered over as Erestor did this, and in short order had deposited two more drops into Fingon’s mouth.

“Blehh,” opined Fingon immediately before he nestled closer to Erestor.

“It does not taste very good, I know,” Glorfindel chuckled. “But merciful Eru, for the pain to be gone…” he smoothed Fingon’s braids and caressed his cheek a little. “Thank you Gildor. We would be lost without you.”

“I have my uses,” Gildor preened.  “I am more than just a pretty ass, you know.”

Maedhros simply shook his head.

Gildor sniffed.  “Are you saying my ass is not pretty?”  He stood up and shook his rear at Maedhros.

Maedhros sat up and reached out to give Gildor’s ass a firm smack.  “Seems like a sassy ass to me.”

“Mmmhmm.  Big sassy ass here, coming right to papa.”  Gildor shook his butt even closer, and rubbed back against Maedhros’ face before he was yanked down into Maedhros’ lap.

“You were not supposed to call me that in front of them,” Maedhros scolded, and for a rare moment, his cheeks matched his hair.

“Shit!  Sorry, daddy.  Oops! Crap! I did it again,” Gildor realized as Maedhros groaned.  Gildor clasped his hands together and looked at the gaping mouths of their companions.  “Have you ever heard of a concept called ‘role play’?”

Erestor tilted his head, Glorfindel closed his eyes, and Fingon mumbled something close to, “Buhyer fahher’s my cussin.”

“Oh, no, we do not pretend Maedhros is  _ my  _ father, well, in the sense of the character I guess, but--”

“Gildor, for the sake of us all, and I mean this ever so lovingly, please shut the fuck up.”  Glorfindel reached out to grab hold of the envelope. “Whatever you and Maedhros do with… whatever that is, is your business.”  Glorfindel slid the documents from where they were kept and cleared his throat.

Erestor did not quite know how to feel, except to realize that this was now going to happen, and swiftly. He wished very much for Fingon to hold him, but Fingon was hurt and not fully present--to put it mildly. Maedhros noticed Erestor’s apparent withdrawal into himself; he began staring blankly across their small space as Glorfindel prepared to read the documents. Something silent passed between he and Gildor, and while miraculously remaining silent, Gildor crawled to Erestor’s other side and gathered him into his arms. Erestor kept a hand on Fingon, but was visibly grateful for the physical support. With his free hand, he reached up to hold onto Gildor’s arm that wrapped around him, and leaned into the strong chest. Only then did the dark eyes raise to look at Glorfindel, and nod. He was as ready to hear the rest of this as he would ever be.

In a soft, yet clear voice, Glorfindel began to read through the occurances detailed in the final part of the documents retrieved from the clinic:

Stage Four Notes

Day 37. Session D. Unnatural image group A,  no reaction. Reward of choice food and wine given to E5 by T1.  Half dose of amnesiac compound B administered by T1, who was allowed to stay the night with E5.  Throughout time of rest for E5, T1 offered verbalized suggestions for appropriate behaviors. 

Day 38.  Session A.  E5 left alone in room with unnatural image group C and desirable image group G.  Following two hour solitary confinement, E5 was found to have turned all of the paintings in group C around or to have removed them from the wall.  T1 entered and encouraged E5 to to act upon his desires. Desired reaction occurred; E5 had to be restrained when he attempted penetration with T1. Restraints reapplied to E5 and double dose of relaxant and amnesiac compound B administered.

Day 38.  Session B. While E5 remained restrained, male associate M3, unseen, initiated hypnotic protocol.  T1 and M3 then displayed desired display on the cot in the room, with M3 talking through all activities.  When E5 achieved arousal, he was rewarded with food and water, and was administered usual dose of relaxant and amnesiac compound B.

Day 38.  Session C.  Second instructional session with T1 and M3.  E5’s wrist restraints were removed, and silk sheet draped from waist to ankles.  T1 allowed to sit on E5’s lap facing him in order to test E5’s reaction. After twenty minutes of desired reaction, E5 made an attempt to remove the sheet between them.  M3 restrained E5 and administered half dose of relaxant and amnesiac compound B. Reeducation commenced with T1 and M3 once again displaying desired behavior. Silk sheet was used again when wrist restraints were removed.  E5 produced favorable reaction when T1 was seated on his lap, and did not attempt to remove the sheet as fully positive reaction was achieved. E5 rewarded with food and wine; half dose of amnesiac compound administered.

Day 38.  Session D. E5’s restraints fully removed upon entry of T1.  Favorable and desired outcome achieved. 

Day 39. Session A. E5 removed to Alcove of Eru’s Favor. Reduced dosage of relaxant compound B given. Guided meditation of desirable responses followed by entry of T1. E5 exhibited full range of desirable responses as well as seemly comportment toward T1, to whom he expressed gratitude. Time was permitted to enjoy several hours of positive reinforcement. Reward of food and wine provided. Afterward E5 praised for his achievements. Recommended transition from experimental treatment and return to general clinical treatment. E5 is not to encounter T1 again for the duration of his rehabilitation in this facility.

It was Gildor who spoke first once Glorfindel finished.  “For a place that frowned upon what we do, they sure had a lot of ‘unnatural’ images collected to have that many groups of them.”

“I know I should be upset,” Erestor commented, shaking his head. “Is it wrong that I almost find this funny? Ludicrous? Absurd? I have heard the interns sometimes say, ‘this is so bad that it is good.’ I … that was not me. Except I guess it was.”

“This is absurd.”  Gildor grabbed the papers from Glorfindel before he had a chance to react and scanned through them.  “I cannot believe the things that they were doing that they thought were somehow normal or what Eru would want, and I am one of the last people to come to Eru’s defense.  Seriously, though… ‘the chamber of purgation’?” Gildor gave Maedhros a sultry look. “Hey, there, honey… want to come inside my chamber of purgation?” In case Maedhros or the others did not get his meaning, he rose up on his knees and jutted his butt out, and slapped his own ass for good measure.  Maedhros only quirked a brow.

“What really disturbs me,” Glorfindel commented while deliberately ignoring Gildor’s antics, “Is that elleth. Whoever she was. T1, I mean. They made her into some kind of what, whore for Eru? She did everything but allow him to penetrate her--if those notes are wholly accurate. That is...disgusting. No elf I knew of ever served as a willing prostitute, but now I find I stand corrected.” With a noise of disgust, Glorfindel settled down a little closer to Fingon. “And they call us perverted.”

“A whore with a higher purpose,” announced Gildor, half talking over Glorfindel.  “A lady of the right. A harlot with a heart of gold. A… wait, this was Valinor. Do we even have that here?”  Gildor dropped the papers back beside Glorfindel. Maedhros cleared his throat and patted the empty space beside him, but Gildor was not done yet.  “Wait, wait… I got another one! A sacred slut!” He was pulled down beside Maedhros a moment later. “Illuvahooker! Alright. I am done.”

Maedhros glared at Gildor.  “You sure?”

“The clinic courtesan.”

“Stop.”

Gildor bit at his lip, but then burst out with, “The sacrificial sanctified strumpet.”

“No more,” warned Maedhros. _  I understand that your making some sort of side attempt to cover for what you learned about Nasarion, but you really need to stop because Erestor or Fingon might repeat some of those things to him at some point, and I think we both know how hurtful that would be to that beautiful young man you so handily seduced last night. _

_ Too true; you know me well, _ responded Gildor as he nuzzled against Maedhros.  “Sorry, big daddy,” whispered Gildor into Maedhros’ ear.

“The faithful fornicatrice.”  This did not come from Gildor, but was spoken in Fingon’s groggy, slightly slurred voice.  “And if she ever touches Erestor again, I will break all of her fingers.”

“That seems very harsh,” Gildor commented.

“Fine.  Seven of them,” amended Fingon, and he wrapped an arm protectively around Erestor.

“I love you, baby,” Erestor smiled. “And you too, Fin. Thank you for reading that so that I did not have to. Erm, though maybe I should first ask, was that all? Is that the end of it?”

Glorfindel looked through the pages and nodded.  “That seems to be all of it.” He took the envelope and turned it upside down to show it was empty, but found it was not.  A single, small sheet of poor paper, folded in half, fluttered out and landed on the mattress. “Oh.”

Erestor reached out and took it up to unfold it.  “A letter addressed to Indis. This must be a mistake… oh.”  He held his breath as his eyes flicked back and forth. “Oh.”  His voice deepened, and he swallowed as he started back at the top with a deep breath.

_ To Her Royal Majesty, Queen Indis, _

_ You are correct in your belief that I am the same person who was called Verdev the Terrible during the Liberation of Gondolin.  It pleases me to know that Erestor is alive. He was one of my favorites by far. Should he wish to visit, he is free to call upon me at any time.  You found my address, obviously, and may provide that to him.  _

_ I would welcome a chess rematch in the future.  I find, as I reflect, that I miss the trouble he caused and his special sort of sarcasm.  Know that I mean that as a compliment. Erestor would have made the very best of orcs. _

_ Please send my regards. _

_ Verdev _

“Charming,” growled Maedhros.  “Friend of yours?” he asked Erestor.

Erestor paled, his lower lip trembling. “This part is not so easy. Do all of you know? I am not so naive as to believe that all my secrets still are secrets.”

“Gildor told me and I told Káno,” Glorfindel admitted. “I do not know what Maedhros knows. Either way, Ress, I am so sorry. So sorry for what you endured. It was not your fault. It was bitter for me, to learn that I did not protect you from the worst after all.”

Erestor nuzzled at Glorfindel.  “Not your fault. You did your best, and you should not beat yourself up over your bravery and valor.”  As he leaned against Glorfindel, Erestor stroked Fingon’s arm and shoulder.

“Who is Verdev?” whispered Maedhros to Fingon.

“Remember how you were once going on and on about kinslayings and I told you I killed people, too?” asked Gildor.  Maedhros nodded. “Right, well, Verdev did not really count as people, but he was someone I killed.”

  
“He was the orc who was my…” Erestor swallowed hard. “My master. I was kept as his pet. Slave. I...I do not even know what to call it. It was after I was captured, in the aftermath of Gondolin’s fall. I...there is still a great deal of shame I feel, over what happened to me. What I had to become, in order to survive. And whether or not it would have been better, had I not. Gildor saved me. I do not know that I ever thanked you, Gildor. Not like I should have. I owed you so much. I still do.” 

“You threw a chamberpot at me, told me you hated me, and accused me of killing your best friend, but, eh.”  Gildor shrugged. “I forgive you.”

“I was not right in the head,” Erestor admitted. “And later I had to live with the humiliation of knowing that I had believed him. Believed the twisted crap he told me over and over. Even now I am so ashamed, Gildor. Thank you, for your pardon. I must have been so utterly repulsive to you, not even knowing any longer what was truth or lie. I was little better than an animal held in a cage. I had lost all hope, and then you came. I did not know what to do except be a coward, lest I end up another skinned hide tacked to the wall or neutered like a gelding. That was what happened to the ones who resisted him.” The long lashes covered his eyes, and just a few stray tears fell that were quickly wiped away. “Everything was so shitty then. And it just kept getting shittier. I am trying not to let it weigh me down, it was in the past. But thinking on it still hurts, sometimes. Please know that with all my heart, I am sorry for my treatment of you.”

Gildor crawled over to Erestor and sat down in front of him.  He lifted up a finger and booped him on the nose. “Hey, I was an asshole, too, remember?  Calling you names, breaking into your room-- Glorfindel, cover your ears,” Gildor said belatedly.  “I was horrid to you in Imladris, and not great here for a while, either. And Eregion… well, shit, I am surprised they did not throw both of our asses out of court there,” Gildor remarked.  “You can uncover your ears now, dear,” he said to Glorfindel, even though he never had covered them in the first place. “Do we have the address of this little orc fucker? I really, really want to get a big fucking tattoo and go stand outside his house and shout ‘what are you going to do about this, motherfucker?’  Or, maybe just write him a nasty anonymous letter. Your call.”

“A tattoo?” muttered Maedhros.  “You cried about a papercut the other day,” he reminded Gildor, who shushed him.

“Why can I envision that all too clearly?” Glorfindel mused.

Erestor chuckled a little, in spite of himself. “No comment. Except to say...I do not think I wish to ever see him. If I did I would hide behind Fingon just on principle.”

“And if I see him, there shall be a fourth kinslaying,” came Fingon’s sleepy voice.  “He is an elf now, right? Is that what the letter meant?”

“Elf, check.  Asshole, double check,” confirmed Gildor.  “Wait a moment… I just realized…”

“What, love?” prodded Maedhros when Gildor appeared lost in thought.

“If I call someone an asshole… and if they are an asshole… I mean, you know what I like about assholes, right?  So does that mean--”

“Gildor, no,” interrupted Maedhros firmly.  “I already have eight other things I have to apologize on your behalf for.”

“I was working up to an even ten,” said Gildor, but he looked down at Fingon and booped him on the nose as well.  “Still managing the pain alright?”

Fingon started to nod his head, but then he said, “I can feel the throbbing.  Like a two or a three,” he said.

“Let me get you a bit more,” Gildor said, and he administered a few more drops of the liquid directly into Fingon’s open mouth.

“I find the way Verdev referred to Erestor in the letter to be completely unacceptable,” Glorfindel commented. “But I somehow doubt he is worth the trouble. He made no indication he would seek him out--something he would find to be a tremendous mistake. It just bothers me that he does not seem to realize the immorality of their past interaction, though he now is an elf.”

“He might look like an elf, but he still sounds like an orc,” responded Gildor.

“That. Exactly,” Glorfindel waggled his finger. “Were anything to be written to him, it would be an unemotional insistence to never even think about coming near to Ress. And yet threats have the potential to stir curiosity. I am not certain what is best; to do something, or nothing. Thoughts?”

“The letter is written to Indis,” spoke Maedhros.  “That means she found him, from the way he words it that she obviously has his address.  He offers that Erestor can contact him or see him, but it does not sound like he has a desire to reciprocate.  He also seemed unaware that Erestor was even around. Honestly? Do nothing. Going to him or acknowledging him just means an interest, and from what I am hearing, it would probably feed his ego in some way.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Then with Erestor’s blessing, nothing is what we shall do.”

Reaching across Fingon’s body, Erestor found Glorfindel’s arm and squeezed it. “Yes please,” he said softly. “And...if everyone is willing, if there is no more...could we talk about something else? Even if it is questions you have for me. There is just something about...that thing...I would like not to speak about him any longer, though I will withhold nothing any of you want to know.”

“I have a question, but not for you.”  Maedhros poked Gildor’s shoulder. “I am confident that there is no way you could withstand getting one, but just what sort of tattoo were you planning to acquire in order to tease an orc who may or may not actually remember you?”

Gildor looked over his shoulder and shrugged.  “It was hypothetical.”

“And where?” prodded Maedhros.

“Hypothetical.  Supposed. Imagined.  Possible without actual factual bearing.”  Gildor stretched out his arm. “As if I would mar my flawlessly beautiful skin with permanent ink.”

“It fades over time,” said Glorfindel.

“I like tattoos,” mumbled Fingon.

“Mmmm, yes you do” Erestor said happily. “Oooh. Now this will cause some further pondering. Envisioning. Postulating, imagining, possibly even fantasizing.” Leaning down, he kissed Fingon gently on the lips. “So sexy.”

“Tattoos are very sexy,” agreed Maedhros.  “They can be fun, and intimate, and meaningful…”

“Is he…”  Gildor spun around, still on his knees, so it was more of an awkward waddle.  “Are you peer pressuring me?”

“I do not think anyone could peer pressure you to do anything,” answered Maedhros.  “However, allow me to present my sound argument in favor of skin art.”

Gildor flopped onto his stomach, splayed out.  His feet nearly knocked into Erestor’s cheek, but missed. “You have three minutes to make your case.”  Gildor fluttered his hand that Maedhros was already on the clock.

Erestor deftly snatched at one of Gildor’s feet, and began to rub the arch. And the toes. “Why only three minutes?” he wanted to know.

Maedhros laughed.  “That is his father’s doing.  When we go to visit, and Gildor goes on tangents, Finrod will announce, ‘Inglorion, you have three minutes’, and it actually works.”

“I definitely am filing that away for future reference,” Glorfindel affirmed. “That may be the most valuable thing I learn all day.”

“I just learned how amazing Erestor is at massaging feet,” groaned Gildor.  “Next time we do the massage group thingy thing, feet. Oh… yes, yes, yes, right there,” he purred as Erestor pressed firmly into Gildor’s arch.

Erestor smiled and kept on with his work, but his eyes and those of his mates (even Fingon made the effort to twist his head around a little, for he was interested in what Maedhros had to say) tracked to the redheaded ellon.

“I say he gets at least five minutes,” Fingon murmured. “Ten if I like it enough.”

“His Gymnasticsness has spoken,” Glorfindel smiled.

“Five minutes seems excessive,” Gildor remarked, and then Erestor worked his fingers between Gildor’s toes.  “But… oh!... ten is good, tooooo…” Erestor smiled and nodded to Maedhros.

“Esteemed colleagues,” began Maedhros, who rose up onto his knees to speak.  This caused the roof of their sheet tent to rest on his head. “My presentation today is on the reasons why I believe that all homosexual elves should consider tattoos.  First, as a completely and openly homosexual male, I have spent my life being criticized by others for my “choices”, as if how I am is something I just decided to do one morning between picking out the color shirt I wanted to wear and deciding between toast or waffles for breakfast.  As someone who has dealt with this lack of acceptance, I feel it is my duty to seek out things I have a choice in when it comes to expressing myself.”

“This seems like a really weak argument,” Gildor told him.

“All questions and comments at the end, please,” Maedhros said authoritatively.  “Second, tattoos are a fun, generally safe way to express one’s personality. As a homosexual male, I get told I am gay.  A lot. Gay can also mean happy, frivolous, and fun. Ergo, it seems very, very natural that those of us who are homosexual -- gay, if you will -- should embrace the art of tattoos.”

Gildor scratched the back of his neck.  “I love you, but your reasoning is lame, sweetie.  This is not like lipstick or even hair dye, where if I do not like the color, I can wipe it off or try again.”

“Ah, but we have yet to explore the history of tattoos in Elven culture.  Who here knows where the practice came from?” Maedhros asked.

Not even Erestor offered insight.  Gildor raised his hand, and when Maedhros nodded to him, he said, “Something gay, right?  Sorry, darling, I mean, homosexual.”

“Actually, you are correct,” said Maedhros.  “Long before any of us were born, homosexual couplings were not only frowned upon, but there was no official way to have a binding recognized.  At that time, metalcraft was still in its infancy. With substances such as gold being scarce, and crafters few, it was the enlightened leaders, those who established the first workings of religious beliefs, who kept control of these resources, and consequently, it was they who distributed gold bands of marriage -- at that time, silver betrothal bands did not exist.  In this ancient time, no enlightened leader would stand to see these bands be given out to couples of the same gender who declared their devotion and binding to one another, for they were seen not to be married in the eyes of the people. However, I think we all know, who gives a fuck what someone else thinks? And so, with all other resources being unsuitable, those who entered into unions with someone of the same gender would tattoo a mark or ring around a finger to symbolize the marriage band they were denied.  In conclusion, yes, I am trying to pressure you, Gildor. Suck it up. I can hold your hand.”

An oddly high-pitched giggle erupted from Erestor, who almost immediately clapped his hand over his mouth. Almost. Glorfindel eyed him curiously. “Really?” he asked his mate.

“It was funny,” Erestor said, trying to maintain what was left of his dignity while blushing furiously.

“Dammit, why did you have to use logic and gay stuff and shit?” Gildor pouted.  He looked over his shoulder. “Psst. Erri. My feet are not going to rub themselves.”

“Rude,” muttered Fingon.

“He saved my life, love. And put up with a lot of my shit. I do not mind. You can spank him later, when you feel better.” Erestor nuzzled Fingon’s cheek.

“Still rude,” Fingon said, sticking with his verdict.

Gildor looked over his shoulder.  “Sorry. Please could you continue rubbing my feet, Erri?  You do wonders for them. And you,” he said as he looked back to Maedhros.  “You know it is not the pain part of it. How many things have I had pierced in the course of my lifetime?  A lot. The answer is a lot. It is about the permanence of it.”

“They will eventually fade if not touched up,” Glorfindel emphasized.  “I have had two in the past, and there is not a trace of either left.”

With a glance over his shoulder, Gildor scratched his palm, and then tilted his head, and looked back at Maedhros.  “I will do it, if Glorfindel does it.” His smirk, seen only by Maedhros, seemed to speak of his confidence that Glorfindel would not express interest in the venture.

“Sure, sounds great,” Glorfindel said without skipping a beat. “What do we get? Armbands? Symbols? Do tell.”

“What?”  Gildor slowly rolled over onto his back, eyes widening by the moment.  He propped up on his elbows and stared at Glorfindel. “You are joking, right?”

“No….was I supposed to be?” Glorfindel asked, pretending to be confused.

Meanwhile, Maedhros made his way closer.  With Gildor on his back, it was easy for Maedhros to suddenly pin his wrists down and hover over him.  “It can be anywhere and anything, so long as it is something sexy,” he said as he leered down at Gildor.

“Me, too,” muttered Fingon.

“I want us to talk about it,” Erestor asked. “My husbands and I, I mean, since I am not suggesting the five of us get something together. I hoped it could be sexy but special, too. Wait, that sounded better in my mind,” he frowned. “Hopefully you know what I meant.”

“That makes sense,” said Maedhros.  “While I embrace the idea of all of us doing our own thing, I am not against the idea of a common theme, either.”  He looked down at Gildor, who was, for once, fairly quiet. “We could do mock wedding bands, like our kind used to.”

“I might find that acceptable,” answered Gildor.

The topic of conversation seemed to have invigorated Fingon, and he pulled himself up with Erestor’s help, then leaned heavily against Erestor.  “Are we doing this now or later?”

“Later,” Glorfindel insisted. “I do not want this happening until you are fully well.”

Fingon nodded his head, as did Erestor.  “We need to wait until after Fingon is healed,” Erestor said.  “With open wounds already, we would just be adding more wounds.  It could compromise his ability to heal his hand.”

“Then perhaps we can turn the conversation to something else,” Glorfindel said. “This talk of all of us living together. I would like to continue that discussion, if everyone feels amenable.”

“Oh.”  Gildor nudged at Maedhros with his leg, and the two of them sat up.  “I thought we had already more or less decided it was a good idea? Or was that just in my head…”

“We come with a pair of dogs, a giant rat--”

“Capybara,” Gildor added quickly.

“--and the very real likelihood that my father will want to visit at some point.  Also, I am prone to traveling, and Gildor is not, which means there are times that--”

“You will be stuck with me while he goes off to play adventure,” finished up Gildor.  “I may require frequent foot massages.” He wiggled his toes.

“It is not ‘stuck,’ Gildor,” Glorfindel corrected. “You have done so much for us. The help with the garden alone has been priceless; it leaves me with a little more time to paint and your sales acumen has increased my income from the market--all of which goes into the pot for the household. I would consider you to be a valued member of our family. Really, I already do.”

Gildor leaned forward abruptly and kissed the tip of Glorfindel’s nose.  “Alright, I accept!” Maedhros cleared his throat. “We accept, I mean.”

“That was more of wanting to get an opinion from Erestor and Fingon, and not so much as it pertains to me, but my father.”  Maedhros looked across to them. “I suppose I could just go visit him from now on if that would be preferable.”

“Meh,” answered Fingon.  He sighed. “I might punch him,” he admitted.

“I might encourage that,” answered Maedhros back.

Fingon blinked a few times, and shrugged.  “I will most certainly run my mouth at some point.”

“I would worry if you did not,” Maedhros said.

“Then I think I can manage it,” said Fingon.

Erestor frowned. “He is welcome here. I will admit that I would one day not mind an apology for some of how I was treated in the past, but...I also would not be so inhospitable of a host as to bring that up. It is over with but a part of me will always wonder why…” He laughed. “Silly Erestor. I should know better to wonder about things that are perhaps better left unknown. Forget I just said all that. He is welcome here, and I leave it at that.”

“My parents will also most likely want to visit, but I cannot imagine them being problematic.  My parents are very lovable,” said Gildor. “I mean, they have unconditionally loved me since I was born, and that is saying a lot for someone.”

“Your father is the reason my father made some effort, however belated,” Glorfindel said. “He also helped to save my life, in that theater. Always is he welcome in my home and heart.” A lengthened pause filled the air. “I know that--I mean, I know this is not going to be some five-way marriage, nor do I want it to be. But--I mean it very earnestly--I will consider us family. A slightly odd family, but one nonetheless. For all the banter, gayness and challenges, I feel a solidarity with all of you that is like nothing since Gondolin. But unlike in the hidden city, I am not some Lord with responsibilities. I care about each of you not out of a sense of duty but...because.” He looked aside, a little shyly, suddenly feeling as though he was sharing too much.

“Well, of course it feels like family, because we are family.  Silly cousin.” Gildor rolled and flopped until he managed to end up halfway on Glorfindel’s lap.  “I know what you mean though. Sometimes I think about how nice it would be to have siblings, but this is sort of like that.  With benefits.”

“I feel a little left out,” said Erestor.  “All of you are related by blood, and always will be.”

“We could be kissing cousins!” joked Gildor.  He leaned over and smooched Erestor on the cheek.  “Hey! Hey.” Gildor poked Erestor’s shoulder. “You have no siblings.  I have no siblings. We could be honorary brothers or something. Or, blood brothers, maybe.  I remember how people who were only children used to do things like that. That would cut their palms and clasp them together and declare that made them related because the blood mingled.”

“You fuss about tattoos, but suggest slicing your hand open for fun,” pointed out Maedhros.

“We were already over this,” Gildor reminded him with a shake of his head.

“It is not quite the same,” Erestor chuckled. “There are different nuances to all those things. I would be honored to call you brother, Gildor, for I have none.” Shyly, Erestor leaned over and returned the kiss to Gildor’s cheek.

“Do not mean to rain on the lovey-ness here,” Fingon said softly. “But I think we need to discuss finances. While we are not destitute, neither can we live lavishly. Obviously the gardens help a great deal to put food on the table--during fair weather. I do not mean to be crass; you are welcome, very welcome--but where does the extra income that we will need for this to be feasible over time appear from?”

There were some awkward glances, but only a brief interlude before Maedhros spoke.  “The first time we brought up the idea, the suggestion was rope. There is land here to grow many things, and I think we could try to grow what I need to make ropes we could sell at the market.”

“Speaking of the market, I do a fair job selling all of the Feanorian wares in Tirion, if I do say so myself, and I do,” said Gildor.  “I hope that your father and brothers will send their items here to be sold, as we did with what we brought along.”

“Some of them might,” said Maedhros carefully.  “Shipping carries a cost; shipping what they make requires an escort or insurance.  It may not be worth the exchange.”

“I never thought of that,” Gildor admitted.  “Well, I wonder if I… no, that seems far fetched... what if I helped here, with the crops?  We might be able to produce enough things to sell the extra at the market.”

“That has some merit,” Glorfindel admitted.

“Especially if we plant an orchard as we have bandied about from time to time,” Erestor noted. “Yes, there is fruit on the island. But premium fruit, that is another matter entirely. I believe I could make a good job of it--with help. All this stuff is a lot of work, but Gildor has already shown himself to somehow be boundlessly energetic even sober...which I deeply admire.”

“It is not the age, it is the leagues traveled,” Glorfindel noted. “Wait. That does not work at all. Just...ignore that,” he laughed. “This will teach me to try and come up with sagacious sayings.”

“I am going to say something I doubt will be popular, but needs to be said now.”  Maedhros had the full attention of the others, including Fingon. “When it comes to manual labor, put me to work on that.  Gildor, yes, is energetic, but he has a keen mind as well--not that you do not, Tatannen. You enjoy what you do here, though.  And, yes, Gildor, you would enjoy it for a time, or on occasion, but think hard about what you would be committing to. You have been known to bore easily.  I think we might discover other things you could do instead.”

“If I may?” Glorfindel interjected, raising his hand a little. “I have known you for a long time, Gildor. I think it would be frankly disastrous for you to commit to any one thing that you do not already enjoy--like the sales. You are gregarious, flamboyant, persuasive. Selling at the market could be your strongest suit. For most all other things I think it would be far more ideal if you had a variety of options. Maybe leave it like it has been. You find out that something is needed, and more often than not you choose to tackle that in your own way. Much has improved here on account of your talents. I fear otherwise that you will have serious regrets and come to find that rote work is something you despise.”

“I do hate ruining a good manicure,” admitted Gildor with only the slightest hint of shame to his voice.  “Perhaps that can be my calling. I can set up a booth at the market and offer beauty and fashion advice.”

Erestor raised an eyebrow. “Why not offer counseling services while you are at it? You could be a full service booth. Depressed? Having trouble with color coordination? Is your employer impossible? Trouble with drinking too much? Need pickles?” He began shaking with laughter, finding his own humor very funny. 

“Not nice,” Fingon corrected, waggling his finger at Erestor.

“I know, love,” Erestor said, kissing the digit, “but I could not help it. I meant it as a compliment; Gildor has many talents and this island lacks, well, a lot of things.”

“Why, are a lot of people stressed and depressed over their wardrobes?” asked Gildor.  “I have no idea why I asked that--of course they are; there is a dreadful lack of color in daily life.  Performers are certainly an exception, but from residents to tourists, never have I seen so much brown, ivory, black, and olive in one place.”

“Well if they are depressed, good luck finding help,” Glorfindel muttered. “A while ago the three of us looked for a therapist. It was a disaster that ended with them trying to foist Faelion on us. That ought to tell you everything you need to know about the state of clinical services here on sunny Tol Eressëa.”

“Who is ‘them’?  This sounds horrible,” said Gildor.  “I swear Faelion paid someone for his credentials.”

“Probably,” growled Fingon.

“It is… this place. This...facility, that was supposed to have a reputation for matching those needing counseling to those who wished it. But then it was…” Erestor flailed a little, for summarizing that experience still eluded him.

“It was a clusterfuck,” Fingon said with finality. “A poorly managed, bureaucratic disaster of an excuse for a healing establishment that seemed far more occupied with how they might extort income for their so-called services than in actually accomplishing anything for those in need. Faelion being their star therapist was simply the last straw.”

“That was very eloquent,” Erestor admired, stroking Fingon’s hair.

“Speaking of being bored, I find that I tire of hearing that little brat’s name,” said Gildor.  “It baffles me that he feels he has to have a hand in so many different things. Making life miserable at Sarati, performing as a dancer and an actor both here and in Valinor, getting his claws into the old theatre, being employed by the central wellbeing services here… Maedhros, what else does that little shit do?  You see him out and about in places I do not.”

Maedhros nodded.  “He sits on the arts council with my father, who has allegedly told him to shut his fucking mouth in the middle of meetings.  Faelion has a tendency to miss enough meetings to be uninformed, but attend just enough not to be thrown off the council. Where else… oh.”  Maedhros cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Indis saw him at the… clinic of questionable morals and standards when she went there to post eviction and have the locks changed.  He was very nosy, but Indis completely refused to respond to any of his questions and had him removed with the others and said to everyone who was there only ‘Good day’ before shutting the door on them.”

Erestor’s face broke into an impressive smile as he gazed toward the door.  Glorfindel’s, on the other hand, deepened into a frown. “I do not often utter such sentiments, for I believe it at best inappropriate and at worst wrong to wish ill on any of our brethren,” Glorfindel began slowly. “But if the day comes when he reaps some kind of recompense for behaving as he does, for bringing unhappiness to so many for no real reason...I will not be sorry if I am near to see it. I still do not understand whatever happened to him to cause his heart to be so devoid of empathy or consideration for anyone but himself. It makes me wonder, why? Was he always this way and I utterly failed to see it, or did something happen to change him? And why am I even thinking about this…”

Reaching over Fingon, Erestor laid a hand on Glorfindel’’s arm. “Because there was a time you loved him, and it can be hard to let go of the memory of what was once hoped for. There is nothing wrong with you, Fin. If anything it shows that you have grown when he has not. I doubt he ever reflects on anything about you in the same manner.”

Slowly Glorfindel nodded and placed a hand over Erestor’s. “That you could say this to me after how he treated you...you, too, have grown, Ress. Become greater. Do not blush and turn away from me, it is true. You have worked hard to become a better person and I want to be the first to tell you, you are succeeding.”

A crooked smile appeared on Erestor’s face. He did not reply, but instead squeezed Glorfindel’s hand in gratitude.

“Can I sleep now?” It was Fingon, blindly reaching for a blanket.

Glorfindel pulled the nearest quilt temporarily over Fingon.  “It would be a good idea to get some rest,” Glorfindel advised.  “Erestor, can you help me move him to the bedroom?”

“You may want to leave him here,” suggested Gildor.  “I did not stitch the wounds because I honestly had to cut away so much skin and even some muscle.  It would be best to keep him as immobile as possible tonight.”

“We will sleep here, then,” decided Glorfindel, and Erestor nodded.

“We should, too,” said Maedhros.  “Then the healer is on hand if needed.”  Gildor agreed with the assessment, and soon all five were sprawled out on the mattresses, with Maedhros and Gildor curled up together, and Erestor and Glorfindel protectively on either side of Fingon.


	14. Day 14

### Afternoon Day 14

There was a knot in Fingon’s throat when he awoke from a dreamless sleep.  He groaned in displeasure at the soreness and reached for his neck. Gildor was there and helped him to sit up against a pile of cushions that had been arranged nearby.  Immediately Gildor could see the way that Fingon swallowed awkwardly, and he brought a clean chamberpot to him. “You will feel better if you cough up the bile. It is a residual effect of the concoction I gave you.”  Fingon did as instructed, and a sizable amount of orange and white phlegm was deposited into the vessel. “I can help you stand if you wish to relieve yourself. We made the decision last night to keep you in here, at least to begin with, while you heal.”

“Where is everyone?” asked Fingon in a distant voice.  Some of what Gildor had given him was worn off, but there was still a haze to Fingon’s being.  The pain had returned somewhat, but not to the extent it had been the day before when he could not lift himself from the floor.

“Working.  Erestor went to the library because he was worried that Nasarion would have much to handle, Maedhros is tending the fields lest the crops overrun the yard, Glorfindel is painting his feelings, and my work is here.”  Gildor assisted Fingon to where another chamberpot awaited, and after using that, Fingon was coaxed out of his clothing and eased down to sit in a chair covered by a towel. There Gildor gently washed his body with a wet cloth and a basin of water, but when he offered to help Fingon shave, FIngon shook his head.  Gildor set the razor down and placed a hand over the growth on Fingon’s cheek. “This is the first time I can really tell what it will look like if you give it a few weeks.”

“Most of the time it itches, but not today.  Maybe that stuff you gave me is affecting the way I feel everywhere,” suggested Fingon.

“Perhaps,” said Gildor as he patted off what little moisture remained.  “On the other hand, if you are constantly removing it, you are probably irritating your skin--how often were you shaving?”

Fingon rubbed the more than noticeable stubble.  “Typically in the morning when I woke and when I got home from work if I had the chance, because I could already see it again,” said Fingon.

“That seems excessive,” said Gildor.  “I read a chapter in a book recently that hypothesizes that there is a trait for the growth of facial hair, and that it is passed through mothers to their sons.  Everyone seems to agree about hair and eyes coming as a combination of forces between the parents, but to think that something comes from only one source was quite interesting.  The book also theorized that gender is determined by one’s father. It was very insightful, but difficult to get ahold of. Several religious groups deemed it heresy when it was published.”  

As he spoke, Gildor moved Fingon back to the den of pillows and blankets and settled him in a seated position there.  “I have some breakfast for you, and I also have something for the pain. How much are you experiencing right now?”

“A little,” said Fingon.  “I would say it borders on a four or five.”

“Can you describe the pain for me?” asked Gildor as he began to mix things together.  

Fingon lifted his arm.  There was very little seepage from the procedure the night before.  “It itches and burns a little, but the throbbing is gone.”

“Good.  It sounds as if it is healing.”  Gildor brought the tube to Fingon.  “Drink this, it tastes like shit, but I will give you something to eat that will dull that considerably.”  

Doing as he was told, Fingon tried not to make a face as he swallowed the unsavory mixture.  The empty tube was taken from him and replaced with a small plate containing some sort of layered biscuit.  “What is this?” questioned Fingon.

“Breakfast.  My take on lembas, so it is very nutritious, with a thin spread of flavored cremes between them.  This one is vanilla and honey. I make a chocolate and raspberry one as well, but I did not know how your stomach would feel this morning.”  Gildor showed Fingon where the water was for him, and sat down to enjoy his own lembas cake.

Fingon examined the food from multiple angles before he nibbled at it.  “How long are you going to keep me here?”

“I doubt anyone could actually keep you anywhere,” responded Gildor.  “You are far stronger than I am, and you know the house much better. If you wanted to, you could subdue me, leave this room, and hide somewhere the rest of the day if you really want that.”

“That is not what I wish to do,” Fingon said quietly.

“Good.  That is not what I wish for you, either, as much as I enjoy being forcibly subdued.”  Gildor licked his fingers and set his plate aside. “I truly would like to help you.”

“You already have.”  Fingon lifted his arm up slightly.

Gildor belched and nodded.  “I did help with that, yes. I want to further my services to you.  Not because you are a prince, or a past and future king, or because of your reputation as the greatest gymnast to ever walk these shores.  I want to help you as your friend. I love you, Fingon. I care about you. I want to see you be as well as you are able, but I know from experience and knowledge that most people cannot do that alone.  May I help you, my friend?”

Fingon finished his breakfast before he answered.  “What must I do?”

“First, stop acting as if this is an inquiry or a trial.”  Gildor’s voice was jolly, not at all scolding. He took Fingon’s plate from him and set the dirty dishes out of the realm of the tent.  “Do you want to get dressed, or do you prefer to remain like this?” Fingon shrugged. “Then I am going to undress, not because of anything sexual, just so that we are on the same level.  I am your friend right now, not one of those judgemental healers.”

“Not Faelion,” whispered Fingon as Gildor removed his shirt.

“Nope.  Big nope.”  Gildor tossed his trousers to join his shirt.  “I am much cuter than he is. Also, I have better hair.”  He flipped his over his shoulder.

“You do,” agreed Fingon.  He reached out now that Gildor was closer and drew his fingers through the straight, silky strands.  At present, Gildor’s hair was mostly its natural color, but he had tinted the ends so that they looked like a sunburst, transitioning from blond to gold to orange and to a warm red that matches Maedhros’ hair.  “But he had better hair than I do. Everyone does.”

“What?”  Gildor laughed gently through the word.  “People love your hair. There are three people I think of when I think of amazing hair.  You, Glorfindel, and Auntie Galadriel.” He stroked the back of his hand across the hair on Fingon’s cheek.  “You do not feel the same.” Fingon shook his head. “Tell me.”

When Fingon only hugged his arms around himself and looked down at the mattresses, Gildor suggested they lie down, back to back.  “This way, I am close, but you cannot see me. It is like you are just speaking these things out loud to get them out of your head, but I am here if you need me,” explained Gildor.

Fingon nodded and drew his arms around one of the pillows to hug it to his chest.  He looked over his shoulder a few times, seeing each time that Gildor was lying perfectly still, facing the wall.  Fingon could see the door from his position, just the bottom of it from the way the sheet of their tent hung down. “It is just a lot of things.  I really wanted to have blond hair when I was younger. To be honest… I guess I still want that.”

“You could dye it,” suggested Gildor.

“I tried a few times.  Half of the people I went to refused outright because they felt they would ruin it, and the others tested it to see what would happen if they tried.”

“I take it these tests did not go well?” asked Gildor.

Fingon sighed.  “They would trim off a bit and try to dye it, but it failed in a variety of ways.  Most of the time it turned orange. Once it was green. Then one of them tried to… I guess they have to strip the layers of dark color off of it?  I do not pretend to understand alchemy.”

“More or less,” Gildor said.  “For me, I have pale hair already, so I just add color to it.”

“Mmmhmm.  You are very lucky with that,” Fingon told him.  “So when it did not work the first time, they repeated the procedure again.  From the standpoint of removing the orange and getting it blond, it worked. However, it made the hair so brittle that they told me it would probably break off, like Erestor’s did when he was blond for a few years.  So I just, I gave up.”

“What about a wig?”

Fingon crinkled his nose.  “Wearing someone else’s hair seems odd to me.  Besides, I have so much here, how do I even do that?”

“That is true,” agreed Gildor.  “I do not know how that would work.  My hair is much thinner than yours, so when I do wear wigs--which I do from time to time--I can pin it up and hide it.  You had shorter hair once, so then it would work, but if you do not like the idea of the wig, then it does not make sense to entertain that idea.”

“I just have a lot of it.  Hair, that is.” Fingon sighed.  “I am very hesitant to do anything with it other than just leave it alone.  I mean, I braid it because it becomes an unruly mess otherwise, but I would rather leave it long sometimes, except then I just have this massive hair cloud getting snagged on everything.  I used to use something that Turgon uses to make his more manageable, but the cost is very high. It was fine when I did not have it this long, but now it would be extremely expensive.”

Unseen by Fingon, Gildor silently added notes to a small pad of paper, obscured from view even if Fingon had looked over his shoulder.  “You say you hesitate to do anything. I noticed that you stopped using cosmetics, and the paint on your nails has nearly worn off. Does this have something to do with why you are letting your beard grow in?”

There was a sustained silence that almost made Gildor think that Fingon had fallen asleep, but he began to speak after Gildor tucked the paper and lead stub under a pillow.  “I went to the temple the other day. You are the first person I am talking to about this. I am either going to sound arrogant or crazy when I tell you what happened.”

“I doubt that,” said Gildor.

“I think Eru spoke to me.”

Gildor resisted the urge to turn around.  “Why do you think that?” he softly asked.

Fingon recounted what had occured while he was there.  “I spoke to a cleric there and he came to pray with me in a small room away from the main room of worship.  I told him how I was vain and wrathful and prideful, and at first the cleric just did what they usually do in offering ideas on being a better person.  Then the cleric left, and I prayed for a while, and then I heard the cleric again but I did not see him. I thought it was him, but when I sought him out later, he was confused.  The cleric was gone while most of the things were said to me. Some of the words, too, were my words, not the way the cleric said them, but I heard them in the cleric’s voice. So I think it was Eru, speaking to me.  If it was Him, then He basically told me that I have tried to be more than He is by denying how He created me. I think I have disappointed Him.”

“You… might have thought you heard those things,” Gildor reasoned.  Fingon sat up and shook his head, and Gildor was glad for his decision to leave his notes under the pillow.  “Maybe the cleric did not want you to know he said those things.”

“See?  I told you that you would think I was crazy.”

“No.  I am offering possibilities,” said Gildor as he, too, sat up.  “The way you said it to me, you say that you think Eru spoke to you, but you are not convinced he spoke to you.”

Fingon hugged around his knees.  “I want to believe,” he finally said.

“I am not a particularly spiritual man,” said Gildor, “but I have things I do believe in.  I recognize that belief in something is internal. Yes, there are people who can sway those beliefs--consider what happened with Erestor.  He really seemed to believe he wanted to be with a woman for a substantial part of his life, but ultimately, he overcame those falsehoods forced upon him.  So, if you want to believe that Eru spoke to you, and you have no other rational explanation, then it sounds like Eru spoke to you.”

Slowly, Fingon turned his head.  “You were the last person I expected to say that.”

Gildor chuckled.  “I guess I say strange things sometimes.”

“I just wish I had a more definite sign that it was Him.  Which, makes me sound arrogant. Why should I be demanding things from Him?”  Fingon shook his head.

“What if you just ask him?  I know a lot of people who think he’s listening all the time, which I admit seems creepy, but if he wants in on everything including my sexual exploits, so be it,” announced Gildor.  “Do you pray much?”

“I used to,” Fingon said.  

“Do you want to pray now?” asked Gildor.  When Fingon did not answer, Gildor asked, “Would you like me to pray with you?”

With brows arched, Fingon regarded Gildor.  “You would pray with me? You do not believe most of what I do.”

“Does that make it less valid?  I just wanted to offer,” said Gildor.  “That is how much I care about you.” He placed his hand on Fingon’s arm.  “I leave it up to you.”

Fingon regarded Gildor’s hand for a few seconds before he took hold of it.  He bowed his head and closed his eyes, and Gildor did the same. No words were exchanged, and Gildor kept hold of Fingon’s hand until the grip loosened a little.  Both opened their eyes and Fingon seemed to be breathing easier. “Thank you,” he whispered to Gildor.

“Of course,” said Gildor.  He sneaked a hand behind the curtain of braids so that he could rub Fingon’s neck.  “I know from what I know and have seen from you that you are extremely hard on yourself.  I think all of us have trouble with pride and vanity at times, but I think you can take acedia off of your list.  You have taken care of Erestor. Look at how he has thrived since he returned here. I do not think you have failed Eru as you seem to think you have.”

Fingon nodded at first, but then turned and shook off Gildor’s hand.  “Who told you about that?” he demanded.

Gildor blinked.  “You… just told me.  A few minutes ago. Before we prayed.”

“No, I did not,” Fingon said firmly.  He crawled around so that he was facing Gildor.  “I never said anything about acedia, either. Where did you hear about my promise to Eru?”

“What are you talking about?”  Gildor rested back on his hands, face full of confusion.

“What you just said,” ground out Fingon.

“I said we can all be prideful and vain at times,” recounted Gildor.

Fingon rubbed the side of his head.  “No. The part about taking care of Erestor.  When you spoke of failure and acedia and…” Fingon’s words trailed off as Gildor shook his head negatively.  “You just said--” Fingon eased back and looked into Gildor’s eyes. “It was not you. I heard them, but that was not you.”  Fingon covered his mouth with his hand.

“Do you think he spoke to you again?” asked Gildor, and Fingon nodded.  Tears were forming in Fingon’s eyes and Gildor reached out for him. There was no resistance as he was pulled closer.  Gildor held Fingon and rocked him while emotion washed through them both. “I suppose you got your sign,” Gildor whispered.

When they eased down onto the mattress again, Gildor was spooned up behind Fingon so that he could rub the tension from Fingon’s shoulders.  “If you just want to rest, we do not have to talk anymore,” said Gildor.

“I think I am supposed to talk to you,” mumbled Fingon.  “I think He used you to show me that you are safe to talk to.”  Fingon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You see, I told Faelion many things.  I told him the way I felt, and what I did, and how I was, and he used all of that against me.  He threatened to tell other people what he knew about me, and he used it against me directly, and he was just studying me.  He did not actually care about me. I admit that I have shied away from your help because I feared you may do some of the same things.”

“Oh, honey, I am never going to do what that bastard did to you.  I admit, I am not proud of how I handled my problems with Erestor back in Rivendell, but I promise you that those days are well behind me.  Perhaps that is how I have hope for Faelion one day, asshole though he be now. I know how it is to look back at one’s actions and have remorse, true remorse for them.”  He continued to massaged Fingon’s shoulders and moved down to his back. “I do care about you, and I do want to help you. I want you to be able to live a life free from pain--self-inflicted or otherwise.”

As Gildor worked at Fingon’s lower back, Fingon wrung the braids draped over his shoulder.  “When I was little, I was very sick one year. It was just Turgon and I at that time, and something happened where we were both unwell, and the healer gave me something to speed recovery but thought Turgon too young for it.  It turned out I should not have been given it either, and my body started to shut down. Several healers worked over the course of four days. I had fevers that made me delirious, and I would lash out at them. One of the healers thought it was because I had an imbalance, so they decided that bloodletting would cure it.  I do not think it helped with the fever, but it did weaken me. It calmed me down.”

“Do you always try to draw blood when you have the need to inflict physical pain upon yourself?” asked Gildor.

“I guess I do,” said Fingon.  “Usually it is not this extreme, either,” he said, and he turned now so that he was facing Gildor.  After pushing the many braids out of the way, he lifted his other arm. There was a faint mark there, a few inches from his armpit, mostly hidden.  “That was the last one. I just used a hunting knife and nicked it.”

“How often do you engage in this activity?” asked Gildor as he examined Fingon’s arm.

“I guess as often as I need to.  More often if I am not doing gymnastics or dancing, but even then… maybe once a month or less, every few months at least,” said Fingon.

Gildor kissed the marred skin before he settled Fingon’s arm back down.  “What about the rest of the time? This wound looks relatively fresh.”

“Every few days.  Sometimes more than once a day.”  Fingon averted his gaze. “How crazy am I, Gildor?”

Gently, Gildor took hold of Fingon’s face and waited until he looked back up.  “You are not ‘crazy’, Fingon. I do not like that word. You are hurting and trying to cope in the only ways you know how.  What you are doing has a negative connotation to many people. However, is it really that different from some of the things the Avari practice?  Ritualistic cutting, scarring, branding, tattooing, piercing… all of these things cause pain and release blood, but in their culture, are perfectly acceptable.  Call it one thing, people frown at it. Call it another, you can wander into any one of a hundred places from here to the Helcaraxe and pay someone to do it, and it is just seen as eccentric or exotic.”

A snort issued from Fingon.  “There is only so much real estate before I run out of things to tattoo, and I do not want them all over my body.”

“What about the other things?” asked Gildor.  “Would you consider trying those?”

Fingon fidgeted.  “Maybe?”

“They are not so different, really.”

“The difference is in having other people there, because I think what you are really asking is if I can stop sporadically injuring myself, and do it in a more controlled environment,” said Fingon.

“If that is what I am asking, I think your answer is actually yes,” said Gildor.  “To be an athlete of your quality, you have to have extreme discipline. I think, even in dire situations, if you knew that the later outcome would be the ability to find the sort of pain and release you need, you would be able to hold yourself in check, because there would be the promise of the reward.”

Fingon frowned and rolled over.  Gildor resumed rubbing Fingon’s shoulders after a brief time.  “That is an interesting theory,” said Fingon.

“Consider it this way.  On one hand, you have the instant gratification, but that is followed by the anxiety of being caught, and the fear of what others, especially your husbands are going to think, and the possibility of infection or even death.  On the other hand, the thrill of waiting, and the excitement of sharing the activity with someone who loves you, without the aftermath of shame.” When Fingon did not answer Gildor, he continued with, “Do you remember the discussion about tattoos last night?”

“Yes,” answered Fingon immediately.

“And are you looking forward to doing that with Erestor and Glorfindel.”

Fingon’s cheeks flushed a little.  “Yes.”

“And do you have any desires to cause yourself pain before that point?”

“At the moment, no, I do not.”

Gildor moved back down to knead Fingon’s back, but found he was less tense than he had been earlier.  “And what do you hope to gain from the experience? Some lovely art attached to your body to show off to others?”

“A shared experience with my spouses,” said Fingon.  “But I also hope it hurts like hell the whole time. I know there are lotions that can be used to ease the pain before and after, but I do not want those.”  Fingon turned back around to look at Gildor again. “I never really pulled all of this apart before. Thank you.”

Gildor smiled and tapped Fingon’s nose.  “You are welcome. What you said about tattooing has me thinking.  You are right about only having a certain amount of space to work with.  Have you ever had any piercings before?”

Fingon shook his head.  “They were not allowed in gymnastics, and later I just never thought about it.  They also seemed like a lot of work to maintain, and I have all of this hair to contend with already.”

“I was not thinking of you maintaining them,” said Gildor.  “The thing about piercings and elves and healing is that they tend to be gone again within a day or two, sometimes by the next day.  I can see what you have been doing so far has been large wounds, but I think there is something more precise and intimate about tattoos and piercings.  Both use needles… you might even want to explore some of the healing techniques that use needles to relieve pain.” When Fingon tilted his head in interest, Gildor continued with an explanation.  “There are some methods that use long needles inserted into pressure points. I am sure we can find a book about it.”

“And you think that Erestor and Glorfindel are going to support these strange ideas?” asked Fingon.

“How long have you lived with them?  They are two of the least judgemental people I know, and two of the more adventurous when it comes to discovering reactions of the physical body.”  Gildor kissed Fingon’s brow. “If it would help, I could speak with them and bring it up as my idea.”

“I think, considering everything that has gone on lately, I should be the one to speak to them,” said Fingon.

Gildor nodded.  “I could at least be there when you do talk to them.”

“Yes, I think I would appreciate that,” said Fingon.  “Thank you.”

### Evening Day 14

When Erestor returned home, everyone convened outdoors for the evening meal together.  Fingon was relatively quiet until dessert, when Gildor nudged his knee against Fingon’s, and then started a conversation that began with, “If we are all going to get tattoos together, I want it to be known that I expect to get to use whatever potions and powders I need to keep my wits.”  Gildor stabbed his fork into his pie and continued with, “I make the same offer to share things with the rest of you. I know I am doing very well so far keeping myself off of these things, but sometimes even I have my limitations.”

“I think how you will react depends on what we end up doing,” Erestor said. “Getting tattooed feels like an abrasion that keeps happening--but only if it is over a large area. Small or delicate patterns are really not much of an issue. Whereas ones that cover a lot of skin and need lots of shading...well, those can be awful. Not so much like...it is nothing like a whipping; the worst of the pain comes from the fact that it just does not cease. I will be the first one to say that I have no agenda; so far I have not even begun to settle on what I think I might like. I just feel enthusiastic about the idea of it.”

Upon utterance of the word ‘whipping’, Fingon had a suddenly thoughtful look.  Gildor noticed immediately, and kept the conversation going. “I suppose we could start with something small.  I do like the ring idea. I guess if I can just some big, strong, handsome, tall, ginger man to come kiss it and make it better until it heals, I will be alright,” he said as he batted his eyes at Maedhros.

“You want that librarian to stop by so he can kiss your finger?” Maedhros asked as he poked at his own pie.

“Why, then I could have two lovely, sexy redheads tending to me!  How thoughtful, Mae Mae!” exclaimed Gildor.

“Káno, did you have something particular in mind? This was sort of your idea, too,” Glorfindel pointed out.

When Fingon looked like he might just drop his dessert and leave, Gildor, settled a hand on his shoulder.  “Go ahead. He wants to know,” he encouraged.

“I, uh… I have nothing specific.  Maybe… maybe something you create.  You and Erestor. You are both artists.  I…” Fingon clutched his fork, knuckles turning white.  “I-just-want-it-to-be-big-and-hurt-a-lot… fuck, why did I say that.”  He threw his utensil onto the table.

“That was good… Fingon, that was really good,” praised Gildor.  “Do you want to tell them the rest or should I?”

Fingon swallowed at the lump in his throat and stared at the top of the table.  “I want to try to experiment with… some things that… can cause pain, so that I maybe stop just hurting myself every time life gets to be too much for me.”  His bottom lip trembled, and he was spurred on when he heard Maedhros whisper ‘Thank Eru’. “I… I thought we… Glorfindel, you, and you, Erestor… I thought we could… I thought you might be able to help me.”  There were little divots now where his teardrops had plummeted into the whipped cream on top of his abandoned slice of pie. Fingon waited with his head bowed. “Sorry,” he added softly before they could reply, but Gildor’s hand was still on his shoulder, so he did not try to escape yet.

“Oh sweetheart,” Erestor said, rising. “I did not understand that this is what it was about. I thought...well, never mind what I thought, it hardly matters.” He transferred himself quickly to Fingon’s lap, and reached around to remove a hair ornament that pinned his braids together. Deftly, and unseen by Fingon, he brought the point of it to bear against the edge of Fingon’s ear a little below where the cartilage began. He pushed in hard, but not hard enough to break the skin--yet. “If this can help you, I am not completely without experience in this regard.”

“Ress, what are you doing?” Glorfindel asked, more than a little taken aback.

Fingon’s eyes were wide, and he trembled with excitement, fear, desire, and lust.  He swallowed down the lump, his hands gripping Erestor’s waist. As he looked up into Erestor’s eyes, he knew his husband could feel his rapidly growing arousal, something Fingon had not considered with the request he was making.  He licked his lips and replied with a hoarse, “Yes.”

“Mae Mae, there is something I simply MUST show you on the roof!”  Gildor had his plate in one hand and the remaining pie in the other.

“Do we have to--oh, we are going now,” realized Maedhros as Gildor began to kick the chair Maedhros was sitting on away from the table.  “I guess we are going to go stargaze or--alright, alright, we are leaving!” Maedhros announced as Gildor, still with his hands full, headbutted Maedhros in the direction of the house.  

As they approached the door, Asfaloth was just about to come outside.  “Back in!” barked Gildor, and it was so shocking a way for him to speak that Asfaloth’s tail suddenly regrew and ripped his slacks open.  He stumbled back up into the house, followed by Maedhros and Gildor, who managed to get the door shut without the use of his hands.

Erestor moved the point just a slight bit higher, and pushed in again, this time drawing a tiny amount of blood.

“Ress!” Glorfindel hissed. “What--”

“Fin, I will explain everything later,” Erestor insisted. “Right now the best thing you could do for all of us is to find lubricant, even if it is the whipped cream. That and help Káno shed his clothes. He needs this, and I intend to give it to him.”

Glorfindel’s mouth hung open, as he seriously wondered if both his spouses had lost their minds. Yet, Erestor did not often speak in this manner and something about the level of demand and authority… “Alright,” he said, though not without reluctance. “Do what you are going to do, I will help you both undress.”

“Good boy,” Erestor approved, just before capturing Fingon’s lips with hunger. His hand had a lock on Fingon’s ear, where he continued to exert a slow, relentless pressure.

As the conversation happened around him, Fingon moaned and concentrated on the pricks of pain Erestor produced.  Gildor had been absolutely correct; the experience was so much more exhilarating when it was Erestor providing the euphoria that came with such concentrated sensations.  When he heard Erestor ask for lubricant, Fingon groaned. The thought of being on all fours and having Erestor inside of him AND feeling the sorts of things Erestor had just offered made him feel that if he did not have Erestor on his lap weighing him down, he might have burst with desire in that moment.  Fingon took a deep breath to calm himself before he and Erestor kissed, and he kneaded his fingers into Erestor’s thighs, as if to tell his mate he was ready for anything and everything.

Realizing the potential, Erestor removed himself from Fingon’s lap and coaxed him to stand, for it was the easiest means by which to remove his trousers. For the rest of it, it hardly seemed like it need be terribly organized. Soon he had Fingon arranged as he wished to, and almost laughed when Glorfindel offered a plate of filched whipped cream. _Love, I was mostly joking about this._

 _Well it is cream or I go back into the house. Besides, keep this up and you will have another sort of cream._ If nothing else, he could see that however unappealing this would be for him, clearly it was working for Fingon.

 _Fair point,_ Erestor noted. _I am making this up as I go along; it is going to be rough and hard and if you want to add to it more is merrier. He needs this, Fin._

 _I will manage to think of something,_ the blond noted. _Carry on._ With a grand flourish to Erestor, he began to disrobe and prepare himself.

Unexpectedly, Erestor’s fingers and quite a lot of whipping cream began to tease at Fingon’s entrance, until he felt satisfied. Then he slid his erection in the cleft, which freed his hand. Without warning he pinched up the loose skin over one of Fingon’s shoulder blades and forced the metal ornament through it, neatly skewering the tissue. Then he returned to his preparation as though nothing unusual had just occurred.

Though it was so small a puncture to view, as Fingon noted when he turned his head to see gleaming point jutting out of soft skin that bled with a find red stream across pale flesh, it was the method, the company, and the fact that it was so small, so thin, and yet he felt where it was embedded in his muscle when he moved his shoulder slightly.  Still under the effect of the pain reliever Gildor had administered earlier that day, Fingon whimpered, wishing he could feel it fully. Then the thought crossed his mind that this meant he could withstand more than he would be able to without the pain dulled. “More,” he begged Erestor. “I need more from you.”

For an answer, Erestor plunged into Fingon, knowing that he might not be ideally prepared yet. In fact, he was counting on it. Then he pulled up on the skewer-like ornament, twisting it as he did so before removing it with a snap of his wrist. Close beneath it, he took a larger piece of skin, but this time pushed in slowly, advancing the point with deliberation so as to puncture the tissue multiple times as he went along. In the midst of this he thrust into his lover deeply--and quite hard. He threaded the ends of his hair ornament through two of Fingon’s braids, jerking roughly to make certain they would do as he wished. Satisfied, he leaned forward and savagely bit into the ridge of Fingon’s shoulder, backing off only when he could taste blood.  This was doing something to him, too, though he felt reluctant to admit it--a nearly feral exercise in taking control, and lust. The warm coppery taste on his tongue excited him, causing him to abandon all restraint and fuck as if this was some erotic fever dream far removed from reality. For a moment nothing registered but the rapid percussion of skin slapping on skin; the counterpoint to Fingon’s cries and moans.

Between the gasps and grunts issuing from him, Fingon begged for a continuation of the blissful torment he was receiving.  Something within him registered that it truly seemed madness to be so in want of the delicious pain Erestor fed to him. He thrived on the thrusts that tore into him unlike any previous sexual encounter he had ever experienced.  He felt as if something about it should have scared him or disgusted him, or made him want to stop, but from his lips came the word ‘more’ again, and he arched his back to better feel the fullness of Erestor’s desire burning within him.  He felt he should be ashamed to have desired this, embarrassed that his enjoyment was on display for Glorfindel (and perhaps others on the rooftop), but he cared not as he rolled his hips and dug his fingers into the ground, and whimpered the word ‘please’ over and over, even though he did not quite know what he would be granted from this plea, but certain he would take great pleasure from it.

Egged on beyond what should have been wanted, Erestor realized that if he continued on as he was presently doing, he would climax long before Fingon had all of what he seemed to want. Without warning he pulled out, needing to bleed off some of his arousal if this was going to last. He close off his thought, for the next thing he did was to spank Fingon with his open hand, but also with all of his strength. It was meant to hurt, quite a lot. First one cheek, then the other. Sometimes he would idly stroke Fingon’s erection, or return his fingers to otherwise pleasuring Fingon. He tired sooner than he had believed he would, some of the aggression bleeding off of him. “Fin. Take him, and do it hard. Do not stop until you come.”

All of the fleeting feelings of uncertainty were chased away by the harsh strikes from Erestor.  Fingon stopped trying to keep the noises he made in check, and a few of the sounds he made scared off birds and small mammals attempting to investigate the remnants of the forgotten meal.  The command from Erestor sounded like a blessing, and Fingon’s body shook with desire to feel the love of his other mate and to hope that Glorfindel would touch that blissful spot within him, and to think of the warm rush that would occur when Glorfindel did find his release made Fingon let out a needful sigh.

Glorfindel had remained near, still trying to process what unfolded before him. The sight aroused him and frightened him all at once.  He swallowed hard. “Alright.” At least he would not be bloodletting, though Eru only knew what Erestor still intended.

“And keep your body upright, for I still have a few spanks left in me,” Erestor ordered, only now seeing the small cutting board that conveniently was not dissimilar in shape from a paddle.

“You are not….” Glorfindel said softly.

*WHACK*

FIngon had anticipated the warmth of Erestor’s open palm.  This new burst of pain hurt so good and so well it took him to that place he achieved previously only through injuries and avoidable accidents.  Tears streamed down his cheeks as he clung to the rapturous stirrings that exploded from the point of contact throughout his body and raced around his head in a fervor that would have brought him to his knees had he not already been there.  All the things he could never explain to Maedhros were bared to them, his lovers, his companions forever, just these two, he realized with a sort of solid certainty he had not felt before. Fingon could tell that Glorfindel was confused, but would be compassionate, and accepting, and that he would come to understand what Erestor obviously already did.

“Apparently you are.” Glorfindel cleared his throat. “I swear if you miss with that thing…”

“Fin, shut up and fuck. That is not a request.”

*WHACK*

Closing his eyes, Glorfindel shook his head and instead attempted to focus from the enjoyment that however improbable seemed to radiate out of Fingon’s mind.

An attempt to continuously analyze the elements of the situation ceased as Fingon was overwhelmed with the purest happiness he had ever felt.  Take away all else in the whole of the world, and he had this, this everlasting connection with the two most beautiful souls he had ever encountered and was blessed to have been bound with.  He openly wept, and yet continued to voice his pleasure and even made sure to push back as Glorfindel entered him, should there be confusion as to his need and desire.

Erestor felt his strong emotion ebbing away, but still realized Fingon wanted more. In the future, he would have to have time to plan. Somewhat frantic, knowing that Glorfindel would spend himself quite soon, Erestor tried to think of what to do. Lacking any better ideas, he grabbed at what was left of the whipped cream and used it on himself, doing the best he could manage. On his belly, he maneuvered himself under Fingon, still with his hair ornament in hand. He guided Fingon to his entrance and brought him inside--his husband could do with that what he wished. Pushing himself back and up onto Fingon’s body as much as possible, impaling himself on the long shaft, he did what he could to hold up most of their weight with his abdominal muscles while searching for some fresh body part he could torment. In the end he chose something simple, the webbing between the thumb and fingers of the uninjured hand. Stabbing through, he kept working the metal to tug and twist at the piercing. Probably Gildor would severely chastise him later for causing numerous sites of infection, but for the moment he would continue--and hope that Fingon would climax before he managed to mar his entire body. A fleeting thought came and went. What would Sauron have done with Fingon, had he also been taken to Angband? Someone who relished this kind of pain? A shudder ran through his body, At the moment he felt only gratitude that no one would ever have the answer to that question.

All of Fingon’s senses were melding into one penetrating sensation of absolute pleasure, from the intensity of the welcomed injuries to the smell of his own blood and the taste of sweat, and everything he could see happening around him.  Letting out one of his guttural roars, he plunged into Erestor several times before he spent himself with a mighty shudder of his body.

Slowly Erestor sank to the ground, expecting that Fingon would follow. Though he had not climaxed, he almost trembled with fatigue--and what he had just done. Closing his eyes, he wished he could even wonder where all of that had just come from, but...he knew. He knew and he had no idea if he should hide it away for later or say something now. His instinct told him to do the former--not to be secretive, or deceptive, but out of a belief that the current moment needed to be about Fingon and that he genuinely believed only Gildor had a prayer of explaining to him what lurked deep inside. He reached up with one forearm, to rub gently at Fingon’s arm. His husband’s arousal still was firmly buried inside of him, and it offered an odd sort of comfort.

Despite having climaxed, Fingon found he was still hard.  Only now did he notice that the bandages around his injured hand were dirty and loose from the zeal with which Erestor had engaged in Fingon’s requests.  Glorfindel continued to slide in and out of Fingon, who now brought his injured arm around Erestor to hoist him back up again. “Can you feel him? His energy, through me, to you?  All of us, linked together.” Fingon did not know what compelled him to, but he lifted his other hand and yanked the hair ornament out with his teeth. It dropped to the ground as droplets of blood followed.  Fingon snaked his hand between them and wrapped it around Erestor’s erection. His movements agitated the wounds, and blood trickled between his fingers, which he used to slick Erestor’s penis as Fingon held his gaze.  “I can… feel it again… can you?” Aroused yet spent, Fingon could tell that Glorfindel’s release would put him over the edge again. He turned his head slightly. “What are you waiting for, Sunshine?”

“Yes,” Erestor said, trying to control his trembling. He turned his head to lean up into Fingon, knowing that he would be worthless after his climax--but he wanted it nevertheless. He closed his eyes, and focused only on the sensations being wrought in his body. Tears welled in his eyes, and he was not certain why. Breathing deeply, he thought only on Fingon’s hand, working him--drawing him irresistibly toward an inevitability. The pace of his breathing quickened, as did the beating of his heart.

Hearing both of his mates voice their desire caused Glorfindel to propel himself forward harder and faster.  Fingon added grunts back into his repertoire and Erestor gasped as he did indeed feel the flow of energy through them.  Glorfindel’s stance widened just slightly as he gritted his teeth and gave a few final thrusts before coming with a low groan.  He closed his eyes for a moment and reached out with his mind. At first, he was startled, for he found only silence, until he realized what it was.

Peace.  A blinding, comforting cloud of peace.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he slid out of Fingon and sat back on his haunches.  A few tears were brushed away. Fingon and Erestor collapsed onto the ground, and Glorfindel took a few deep breaths to center himself before he aided them so that they were both wearily knelt on the ground.  “We should get to the water,” Glorfindel said as he looked around at all of them. There were smears of blood and sensual essence and even some traces of melted cream covering them. Dried blood was caked on Fingon’s shoulder, and his hand still oozed where the hair pin had entered and exited.  The same blood was visible at the corner of Erestor’s mouth and on his chest, abdomen, and genitals. “And perhaps I should alert Gildor that his services will be needed later.”

“Please,” whispered Erestor, struggling to stand. Once upright, he offered to clasp arms with Fingon, to help him. Somewhat unsteadily, the two of them tottered in the direction of the water. Erestor first made certain Fingon entered the water safely, though even he questioned his sanity at that point. A part of him deeply wondered if he had not transgressed some important wish of Eru, with what he had just done. Rubbing his eyes, he gratefully sank into the water and held his breath so that he could submerge himself fully, cleansing the considerable mess they had made.

Into the water Glorfindel came, wading over to his spouses.  He watched as Erestor dipped under first, and studied Fingon.  He took their moments alone to speak his mind. “I do not know if I can ever do for you what Erestor did,” he said.

“You did what I needed,” said Fingon.  “You gave me what I wanted, as did Erestor.  I needed both of you.” To ease Glorfindel’s mind, he bobbed over and kissed Glorfindel deeply.  “Thank you,” he said.

Glorfindel tenderly touched the minute wounds on Fingon’s shoulder.  “I can say that I would rather see this than what you did to your hand.”  He remembered Fingon’s injured hand, and pulled it up from the water. He bit his lip as he unwrapped the soaked bandages, and sighed in relief to see that while the scars remained for now, there was growth over the places he had seen to be raw the night before.  “Gildor really is more of a healer than he gives himself credit for.”

As Erestor popped back up, Fingon kissed Glorfindel again, then came over to Erestor to kiss him as well.  “Thank you,” Fingon said to Erestor before he pinched his nose and ducked under as Erestor had.

“Sure,” Erestor answered in a quavering voice, knowing that he needed to do better if he was going to dissemble. “Breathe, Erestor,” he told himself. “Breathe.” Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he forced his features into a relaxed smile.

Glorfindel placed his hands on Erestor’s shoulders.  “Are you going to be alright?” he asked. He appreciated how the water basically allowed them all to see eye-to-eye, and used this to his advantage, grazing his nose against Erestor’s nose and cheek before he nuzzled his way into a kiss.  “You were quite the force over there. Generally, I liked it.”

“Probably in a little while,” Erestor whispered into Glorfindel’s ear. “I feel afraid right now, but I do not want Káno to know. Not right now. He is too much at peace and I...I do not understand all of what just happened to me. Please hold me, Fin.”

Strong arms wrapped around Erestor, and Glorfindel kissed the top of his mate’s head.  “I love you. I am glad you could do what he needed. I already told him I do not think I could.  I am still trying to understand it all, but I felt the peace you speak of as well. It was so soothing for him.  I am trying to make sense of it, but perhaps I just need to accept it and not overthink it all.”

Beneath the water, Fingon allowed his body to relax enough that he sunk down to the bottom.  Enough light still streamed down, and the pressure was not too great here. He did not usually give thought to the creatures that lived below, but now he looked around at the clear water and the blanket of shellfish that kept the wet paradise clean.  All he could hear was the movement of his own limbs cutting through solid water, and the occasional rush of bubbles as the heat rose up to keep the water warm. Only when his lungs warned him he needed more air did he push his way back up to break the surface.

Back at the surface, Erestor rested his head on Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Thank you, for being supportive. I feel like I can venture a little more. I...I feel scared because before I tired myself out, I liked it. I liked what I was doing to him. It felt like I was someone else and all I could think of was...what they did to me in Angband and that it was some long repressed desire to act out. To hurt as I was once hurt. I feel completely scrambled, and I worry that I have sinned. But how can I have, when my husband is so happy and content from what I did? What I know he wanted? I think I need to talk to Gildor but nothing is more important to me than Fingon’s sense of well-being.”

“It would be good for all of us to speak to Gildor,” agreed Glorfindel.  He beckoned Fingon to them.

Fingon swam a few strokes, and paused just out of reach of the others.  He was breathing a little faster than his companions, and he seemed to contemplate what he wanted to say, which was eventually, “I have another request, but I feel it may be more than you are able to fulfill for me.”  His eyes were on Erestor.

“What is it, love?” Erestor asked, proud of himself for keeping his voice level.

“You were once a spiritual leader.  I…” Fingon chewed at his lip. “I feel like a fraud.  I never made it to the final rite. I know that seems odd, right… I mean, look at how often I used to go to the temple.  It should have happened when I was young, but I was out doing my thing as an athlete, and it just never happened. After all of these years, you would think I would have, but I never did.  I guess I felt embarrassed to admit it to anyone, and I worried they would judge me, or see me unfit to have kept it like this so long. I also feel as if these last two weeks have been an extended confession of everything I have been withholding, which is the first part of the rite.”  He took a deep breath and skimmed his hand over the surface. “We already have the water, and I am willing. I think… I think that was part of it, too. I spent years pretending I believed in all of the things I claimed to, when I had my doubts. I went to the temple last week. Do not ask me how I know, but I think that Eru spoke to me, then, and again today.  It is all very complicated, and I would explain it all to you later if you like, but… that is what I wanted to ask, but I understand if you do not feel comfortable doing it.”

“Are you asking me to baptize you?” Erestor questioned, confused.

After a slow nod, Fingon added in a tiny voice, “But only if you are comfortable doing that.  I know you used to, but I know the Sedryners sort of forced you out, and… maybe this is not appropriate I ask,” he said as he began to doubt himself.

“You are not asking the right question,” Erestor told him softly. “I have always believed that this consecration is freely open to any child of Eru, for ultimately it is your relationship with Him that matters. But...it is me, Káno. I have been cast out, deemed unfit on account of my sins. My greater concern would be that there are those with greater purity of heart, who have not committed all of my grievous mistakes. While I have asked His pardon in prayer, I, too, have not been to a temple or sought out any reconciliation with my former faith. I do not want this to be tainted for you by choosing...me.” A weak smile mostly tinged by sadness rested on Erestor’s lips.

“You performed the rite for me,” Glorfindel reminded Erestor.  “I think the elders were wrong in their decision. Their reasoning was… well, I do not quite understand why they are so set on such archaic ideas.  But does what they said… does it invalidate what you did for me? And if not, why should that matter what you do now, really? What can they possibly do, cast you further out?  Or, can they?” asked Glorfindel. “I mean, ultimately, this is all between you and Eru, or should be.”

“I was yet in good standing when I did the rite with you,” Erestor admitted. “And...how do I even answer that? I mean, I was cast out for officiating over a plural marriage and...now I am in one as well. I do not believe Eru has condemned us; quite the opposite. No, I cannot be more cast out than I am now. The problem is, there is a place in my heart for them but not the other way around, apparently. Their rejection is why I...it was much of the reason I fell into despair and renewed my problems with drugs. I am unashamed to do this, Káno, so long as you understand I am not baptizing you as a Sedryner. Only as a follower of our Father, spiritually dedicated to Him. It is more of wishing you to be certain that you deem me suitable. You know of my struggles as well as anyone.”

A little shiver caused the water to ripple around Fingon.  “I just… I never considered that until now,” he whispered, his voice sounding far off.  “Now that I finally feel ready for it, if I approached someone at the temple, they would be unwilling, because I am part of a plural marriage.”  He shook his head. “It makes no sense, really. People who believe in all of the important parts of the religion cannot fully be part of it because… well, you know where I am going with this.”  Fingon pushed back a few wet braids that flopped into his face. “I would want it to be you either way, Erestor. If we hold sound beliefs, do we need to practice them only under the name and guidance of a group that does not recognize us?  I deem you more than suitable, Erestor. I would rather be one of the nameless faithful than lie my way to convincing a member of the Sedryner clergy into performing the rite for me. I do not think He would approve of that, and I do not want that.”

“Thank you,” Erestor smiled. “If you would give me a few minutes, I am going to swim to the other side of the pond. I wish to pray before doing this.” Allowing himself to sink a little, he propelled himself away from them at first paddling his arms but then kicked gracefully once he was out of danger of striking his companions. Conveniently there existed a rock behind which he could have a small bit of privacy as well as something onto which to hold. He bowed his head.

_Blessed Father, it is long since we spoke. Too long, and for this I am sorry. What I am being asked to do, I do with the deepest respect and love. I am afraid, for I know I have sinned and I pray You have forgiven me. I have done what I could to repent of my former deeds and habits, and ask You to watch over me and my family here. Guide us through our shortcomings and our doubts, for we are flesh and blood. Mostly I thank You for the happiness I believe You have granted us here. I would offer myself to serve You again in some small way if I but knew what it was. In the meantime I will continue to try to be a good husband and friend to those under our roof, and hope that this is enough. I always worry, whether anything is enough, though I try not to. Please bless Findekáno, for no one could be more deserving of Your compassion._

Erestor opened his eyes. He felt at ease, peaceful, which is as much as he felt he could hope for. With a deep sigh of hope, he pushed off to return. “If you are ready,” Erestor smiled. “I just have to find someplace we both might have firm footing.”

While Erestor was gone, Glorfindel had taken hold of Fingon’s hands to lead him in a few basic prayers.  Now Glorfindel squeezed Fingon’s hands and let go of them. “What about over here?” Glorfindel suggested, and he showed how he was even able to stand upright in one part of the spring, on a sort of ledge that jutted out..

“That would be fine,” Erestor said, making his way over there. “Káno?”

Fingon joined Erestor.  His height allowed him to move more easily to where Erestor was, and when he stepped up onto the ledge, he was higher out of the water than Erestor was.  Glorfindel moved back to give them room. “Where should I be?” asked Glorfindel.

“There is fine,” said Erestor.  He took hold of Fingon’s hands and smiled up at him.  “It is an honor to me that you would choose to do this, and that you deem me worthy.  I must ask you if you are still certain. If you decline now, there is no shame and we will not speak of it.”

“I am ready and my heart and mind are willing and faithful,” responded Fingon.

Erestor nodded.  “Turn a little to the right so that you are facing the edge.  Very good,” said Erestor as soon as Fingon did so. “I am going to support you.  No one has ever sunk or drowned doing this. Do you want me to hold your nose or do you want to do that?”

Fingon looked over his shoulder.  “What did you do?”

“I let him take care of me.  Trust me; he will do the same for you,” promised Glorfindel.

“I trust you,” Fingon said when he looked back to Erestor.

“Very good.  All I need you to do is relax and bend your knees a little.  Take three deep breaths, and then hold the third one.” Erestor counted them aloud, and when Fingon filled his lungs with air for the third time, Erestor gripped Fingon’s nose, easing him under the water until he was submerged.  He took a breath himself and then looked upward. “Dear Lord, receive into Your service this, Your child, born from water and brought back to You in water. His sins he has divulged and repented for in earnest; his imperfections he has accepted as the way You have designed him.  Find a place for him in Your kingdom at the end of all things, and accept Him fully as one of Your children and faithfully devoted to You. In Your name, we ask this. Namar.”

“Namar,” repeated Glorfindel as Erestor brought Fingon back up out of the water.

Fingon took a deep breath as he shook the water off of his face.  “Was I supposed to be able to hear you?”

Erestor smiled and shook his head.  “You were underwater.”

“Oh, good.  I was a little worried when I realized you must have been talking.”  Fingon bowed his head and kissed Erestor on the lips chastely. “Thank you.”

Erestor embraced Fingon, and then chuckled softly against his chest.  “That is two more firsts for me today.”

“What?”  Now Fingon was smiling in that slight way that made it hard to tell if it was really mirth or disapproval.  “What did I do?”

“That is the first time someone has kissed me right after I baptized them,” said Erestor.  “This is also the first time I did so for someone with a beard.” He reached up to rub Fingon’s cheek.  “I know my reaction to these has been rather negative in the past, but they are--excuse the pun--growing on me.”

“Except not,” remarked Fingon as he brushed his fingertips over Erestor’s smooth skin.  “Are you telling me you find my facial hair acceptable?”

Both of Erestor’s hands were placed on Fingon’s cheeks now.  “More than acceptable,” said Erestor. “I guess my taste is changing.”

“Does this mean I can grow my ‘special thing’ without frowny looks from you?” asked Glorfindel.

“I think you should,” said Erestor.  “I wonder… hmm.”

Now Glorfindel joined them and nudged at Erestor’s shoulder.  “Tell us what is on your mind.”

“I just wonder if I was so unaccepting of them in the past because I was clinging to the falsehood of being more attracted to females, and it is a very masculine trait, and now that I have rejected that falsehood, I have freed myself to accept that I really, really, really adore men--especially the two men before me right now,” he said as he placed a hand on each of their shoulders.  He looked back to Fingon. “I feel that you are being slighted in a way. Normally this rite is followed by a feast and a party, and all that can be offered is whatever is left of the pie, minus the whipped cream.”

“I just want to be with the two of you,” said Fingon.  “Having Gildor and Maedhros and Asfaloth around are a nice bonus, but ultimately, I would most want the two of you with me.”

“This is nice out here, and I do not mean to rush, but I think we should have Gildor take a look at these wounds,” suggested Glorfindel.  He was still thinking about the damage Fingon did to his hand, and how they had been out here. There were variables with the water in the spring, and it occurred now to Glorfindel that as clean as it appeared, there could be things in the water to cause infection in this warm environment.  He did not voice this specific concern, but aided his spouses in safely getting out of the pool. The pile of clothing was left on the ground, and Erestor took a moment to rest with his hand against a tree before they all moved back inside the house.

A pile of towels awaited them on a chair in the kitchen, and they thankfully bundled up and dried off.  The noise of the trio entering the house brought Gildor to the kitchen, for he and Maedhros had only been in the sitting room.  Initially, there was a smile on his face, but as soon as the towel slipped away from Fingon’s shoulder, Gildor’s eyes seemed to double in size.  “What did--you were--this is the opposite of what should happen,” fussed Gildor. “Let me see your hand.” He huffed a sigh as he looked over Fingon.  “You are just intent upon being a challenge.”

“Sorry.  It was my fault,” apologized Erestor.

“I thought you were just going to tease him a little, maybe stick it through his ear a few times,” murmured Gildor as he circled Fingon to see that the wounds had points of exit and entry.  “I am going to assume this is not going to be the last time you experiment with this. I will mix some antiseptic you can use to clean the skin when you next engage in this behavior, and show you how to sterilize implements.”  Gildor took hold of Fingon’s hand. “Come on. I need to clean the entire channel of the wound by flushing it out. I fear this is not going to--what?” Gildor lifted up Fingon’s better hand, having noticed the wound here as well.  “Please tell me you did not have Erestor stick that thing through your scrotum or something like that.”

“No, but I probably would have let him do it,” said Fingon.

“No,no,” Gildor advised.  “There are some places that are very hard to heal and keep clean.  I will agree to aid you in helping you to heal after your therapeutic sessions together, so long as you stay away from down there and avoid the mouth--lips, tongue, cheeks.  Mouths are dirty places and infections spread rampantly.”

“That sounds fair,” said Fingon as he was led off to be tended to.

Gildor bandaged Fingon up after cleansing and dressing all of his wounds, including the one on his ear, just in case.  The others were cleaned by employing a wide-mouthed glass tube syringe with a small accordion-like pump on the end that pulled the antiseptic into the tube and released it into the wound where it shot out the other side.  Glorfindel held Fingon’s hand as his shoulder was addressed, but when his hand, the least of the three, was being tended, Fingon watched the procedure, and promptly threw up when he saw the liquid shooting out through his hand.  This prompted Gildor to insist that Fingon rest on the couch and avoid further activity for the evening.

It was after all this that Erestor appeared, having recruited Maedhros to help him bring in the abandoned items from the yard and assist with cleaning up the kitchen.  Now Maedhros and Gildor retired for the evening, and Glorfindel went to the bedroom to change the bedsheets in order to offer an environment that was as clean as possible for Fingon.

Erestor stayed on the first floor, and came to sit on a stool beside the couch.  “Káno? Love? I wondered if I could talk to you,” Erestor asked with a hint of nervousness tinging his words. “Maybe I even mean, I wonder if I could talk at you, because I know you are not feeling so well right now.”

Fingon’s response appeared to be in the affirmative, but it was hard to tell if it was a nod or an adjustment with Fingon on his back.  Then he waited, eyes nearly unblinking, focused on Erestor.

Erestor interpreted this as permission, and continued, clearing his throat while he removed a folded note from some hidden spot inside of his clothing. “I, uhm...I wrote this what feels like months ago. It was only a little while before Gildor and Maedhros came here. I really cannot remember when, though I suppose if I considered long enough with a calendar I could piece it together but...that hardly seems important.”

Carefully he opened the paper and pressed the creases smooth with the pads of his fingers. Then he took Fingon’s less hand, which revealed that his own was trembling a little.

_In our garden I stood alone, my feet bathed in diamonds of dew._

_Whilst waiting for the sun to rise, each thought held always you._

_Your love returned my life to me when almost all was lost;_

_Your prayers, hands and noble heart--you cared not what the cost._

_Into your arms I came, in safety there to dwell_

_The life I knew was shattered, with nothing left to tell._

_My eyes then roved the furrows; we dug and raked each row_

_The labor of our hands; quite soon the seeds to sow._

_I see ahead, the life to come, each sprout and leaf and stem_

_But also weeds and burrs and thorns, we cannot forget them!_

_What matters now so much to me, in my rendered soul_

_Is knowing that you walk with me; together we are whole._

_For as the seasons wax and wane, so joy and sorrow come_

_I am with you, at your side, for Eru made us one._

“It is perhaps not my most elegant composition,” Erestor said shyly. “But I meant it with all of my heart, for I love you, Findekáno. And...I should probably let you rest now.”

Fingon reached out to touch Erestor’s cheek.  “It is beautiful, Eres. Your words are always eloquent.  Could you read it to me again, please?” he asked, and Erestor did with more confidence the second time.  “Did I scare you today?” he asked. “Please be honest.”

“Uhm,” Erestor looked down, his long lashes obscuring his eyes. “Not exactly. No. You did not scare me.” Shame coursed through him, for he knew he was dissembling, parsing Fingon’s words because he was not prepared to discuss what they had done. “I hope you are feeling better,” he added as an afterthought. One he hoped would serve as a distraction.

For a moment, Fingon contemplated how to answer.  “It is not so much about feeling ‘better’, as it is about feeling grounded and in control again.  I need to lose control to be in control. I wish I had a better way to explain.” He kissed Erestor gently and said, “If what you want to ask is, did you help me?  Yes. So much. More than I have words to explain.”

“I am with you,” Erestor confirmed, his fingertips stroking Fingon’s cheek and throat. “Ever loyal to your needs and desires, your majesty.  You are the king of my heart.” Grasping Fingon’s hand, he kissed the back of it several times, peppering it with reverent kisses. “I love you.”


	15. Day 15

####  Early Morning Day 15

“More, Erestor,” crooned Fingon.  His arms were stretched above his head, wrists tied to a tree.  A pool of blood surrounded him, sliding down his legs and dripping from his body.  He was shaking and erect and staring not at Erestor, but at Glorfindel, who watched cautiously over Erestor’s shoulder.

“It seems like a lot, Ress,” whispered Glorfindel as Erestor approached Fingon, but Erestor spoke in that commanding voice he had the night before.

“Go behind him and fuck him, Fin,” demanded Erestor, and Glorfindel bowed his head and complied.  To Fingon, Erestor said, “If you want more, I have to make the cuts deeper.” He had Fingon’s hunting knife in his hands.

“I want that,” whispered Fingon, and it was uncertain whether his plea was directed to Erestor as he lifted the knife or Glorfindel as he plunged into Fingon, using the blood to aid with the penetration.

Glorfindel set an easy rhythm, but felt a sudden pain in his abdomen.  He stepped back to see a thin stripe of blood there. “Ow. Ress. You stabbed me.”

“Sorry, Fin.  I am trying to give Kano what he wants.”

“Just be careful.”  Glorfindel returned to his task, only to stop and step back again.  “Ow! You did it again,” he said as he looked down at another flesh wound.

“Sorry.  I think I might have cut too deep.”

Glorfindel sighed and walked back around to see just what Erestor was doing.  “Ress! What--” Glorfindel took in the sight of Erestor, holding the bloody knife in his hand, and Fingon, staring down at his torso, split open like an animal being gutted.  “Erestor! Stop! You are killing him!”

“He was killing himself, Fin,” answered Erestor.

\---

Glorfindel awoke with a start.  The first thing he noticed was that Fingon was sleeping soundly beside him, exactly where he had been when they fell asleep.  The next thing he noticed was how warm his thighs were, and wet, and he reached down between his legs for confirmation and panicked.  He tried to extricate himself from the bed without further incident, attempting to keep his abdominal muscles taut, but he felt something slide out from between his legs and immediately let out a sobbing sound that awoke Fingon.  

“Fin--are you--”

“I need a towel,” Glorfindel said quickly.  “I need a wet cloth, and I need them now, and I cannot move!”

Only the first rays of sunlight lit the room, but Fingon could tell by looking at Glorfindel’s fingertips, stained red, what happened.  He nudged Erestor as he shoved the sheets aside, and Erestor was informed as well. “I will go and get what he needs,” said Erestor. “You stay with him.”  Fingon nodded, and did his best to comfort Glorfindel, who moaned a little as the pain crept up on him.

“Is something wrong?” asked Gildor, who had heard the noise and come to the open doorway.

“Um, Glorfindel just needs some things,” said Fingon carefully.

“They are going to find out eventually,” reasoned Glorfindel through gritted teeth.  Keeping his muscles from contracting also meant taking very slow, shallow breaths. “Light the lamp, Gildor, and bring it here.”

Gildor did as instructed, and saw immediately the telltale signs on the sheet beneath Glorfindel.  His logic did not follow the correct conclusion yet, so he immediately thought the worst. “We have to stop the bleeding.  Let me--”

“No.  This is normal.  Just happens when I do not want it to,” Glorfindel explained as Erestor returned with the items he had requested.  Glorfindel took the wet cloth to wipe somewhat blindly at the blood on his legs until Fingon snatched it away from him to help.  

There was bright red residue, but there were also dark red pieces of slimy matter, almost black, and Gildor’s worry was eased slightly yet his curiosity rose when he saw as Erestor helped Glorfindel remove his bloodied loincloth what was hidden beneath.  “How did I not notice that earlier?” Gildor asked himself.

“It was there but not really there for a while,” said Glorfindel.  Pain washed over him again, and he squeezed his eyes shut until it passed long enough for him to slowly swing his legs over the side of the bed as he shoved the clean linens away.  He used the towel to wad up and shove between his legs, and then began to waddle out of the room. “When Faelion convinced--forced me to reverse what had been done to me when I was an infant, it meant that it included all of the delightful problems that come with it.  I told you about it in my letters.”

“I remember the letters, sure, but the way you wrote about it, it sounded like… well, a barely noticeable entrance.  Clearly, I had a different picture in my mind...but on the rooftop,” Gildor said as he reached out to aid Glorfindel around the bed.  “I should have seen this.”

“I have been very careful to keep it discreet,” Glorfindel responded.  “If you are going to live here, though, you and Maedhros should know.” Maedhros was now by the door, bleary-eyed, but awake enough to know to hold the door open for Glorfindel and Gildor to pass through.

“Do you want us to come with you?” offered Erestor, but Glorfindel waved him off.

“I can manage once I get downstairs,” he said.  “Go on back to bed. I will come back up later. Actually, give me that,” Glorfindel said, and he pointed to the bloodied sheet.

Fingon stripped the bed.  Not only was the bottom sheet bloody, but the blanket they kept under the sheet in case of the accidents that sometimes accompanied Erestor’s nightmares was stained as well.  Glorfindel took them both when Fingon brought them to him and proceeded down the stairs with help from Gildor.

“If you can get me to the washroom, I can take care of the rest,” said Glorfindel.

Gildor shook his head.  “You are in a lot of pain, and I am a healer.  I am not just going to leave you down here to fend for yourself.”  Gildor lit another lamp once they were in the washroom, and helped Glorfindel remove his nightshirt, which also had a hand-sized splotch of red on it.  “How often does it happen?”

“Just--oh, fuck, hold on.”  Glorfindel doubled over once he was seated awkwardly backwards on the edge of the open stool over the chamberpot.  “This is only the third time. Once when Faelion convinced me to see if they could reverse what was done to me by my parents, and then again a few years after I returned here.”  Glorfindel rested his forehead against the wall and panted, teeth clenched, then letting out several puffs of air between his lips while his brow was furrowed. “This feels worse than the last two times.”

“What do you take for it?” asked Gildor when Glorfindel looked to be in a state that he could answer.

“Nothing really,” answered Glorfindel.  “When it first happened, Faelion told me there was nothing to be done for this pain.  The second time, I was just so relieved to be here that I suffered through it. I was embarrassed to tell Erestor and Fingon how much I hurt.  I felt I had asked so much of them already.”

“Dumbass Faelion,” replied Gildor.  “Some people think that women should not be allowed anything for this type of pain because they bring it upon themselves by ‘refusing’ to conceive.  It sounds like the sort of fucking idiotic thing he would do to you. The reasoning behind it is insane--with how long we live and how long women are fertile, can you imagine the result?  I honestly have to have a talk with the healers’ guild about him.” Gildor pulled a stool close to Glorfindel and asked, “Can you describe the pain to me in detail?”

“My abdomen feels like it is on fire,” said Glorfindel.  “My hips hurt. My lower back, right here,” he pointed, “on this side, it feels like someone took a knife and stabbed it in and left it there.  I am nauseous, and fatigued in general, especially my legs and shoulders. I go between feeling chilled and feeling as if I have a fever. Right now I am cold,” he said.  “I get dizzy, and when I have bowel movements, they are frequent and soft, as is happening right now. My… parts down there… my… fuck, Gildor, I have such a hard time saying it,” Glorfindel admitted.  “My fucking vagina hurts. Do you know how ashamed I am to say that word? I used to tell Erestor I would give anything to be able to have a child for him. Of course, what is there does not work right.  All I got was the undesired part of it. My womb is too shallow for childbirth. The healer who performed the procedure on me told Faelion and I that before he fucking cut me open again. Dammit, I should never have done it.”  Glorfindel rested his head against the wall again. “You should go back to bed.”

“Uhm, what part of ‘me healer, you patient’ do you not grasp, sweetheart?”  Gildor pulled the stool closer so that he could rub Glorfindel’s back. “I am going to make sure you are cleaned up and resting down here on the couch, and then I am going to concoct something for you to ease the symptoms you are dealing with.  Then I am going to wash the bedding, because I already know that you intend to do it yourself as some sort of penance and you need to not.”

“They need to be washed before the stains set in,” worried Glorfindel.

“I know.  I will take care of it after I take care of you.”  True to his word, Gildor helped Glorfindel wash away the blood and set up a place for him to rest in the sitting room near the fireplace, which had gone unused most of the summer, but now had a little blaze within it due to a sudden dip in the temperature overnight and Asfaloth’s diligence in tending to such things in the house.  

When Gildor came to collect Glorfindel, he was wrapping a second loincloth around the first clean one he had put on.  “This is my other problem,” whispered Glorfindel. “I have extra parts compared to an actual woman, so I cannot use anything developed for them because it does not work.  So I have to wad up a cotton cloth, wedge it in there, wrap everything up tightly so that it does not move around, and then wrap another one around it all like a diaper,” he said miserably.

Gildor embraced Glorfindel and held him tightly while he spoke to him.  “I have quite a few friends in the garment business who can be discreet about this sort of thing.  I am going to speak to them about this without giving them names and see what they can do for you. You should not be suffering through this.”

Once in the sitting room, Glorfindel was given a vial to drink, and was then tucked into the makeshift bed on a couch Gildor had moved closer to the fire.  “I want to bring you something to eat,” offered Gildor. “Is there anything you can stomach?”

“I want cheesecake,” replied Glorfindel, and both he and Gildor smiled.

“I will make some for you,” Gildor offered.

Glorfindel shook his head.  “Later, maybe. I think there are strawberries in the greenhouse that are ripe.  Some of those would be nice.”

“I will bring them to you,” said Gildor.  “I also have some lembas leftover from yesterday.  I can bring you some of that, too. You feel fatigued because you are losing so much blood in such a short time.  You are dizzy because you are losing fluids, so I am going to bring water and tea once the kettle heats up.” 

Only now did Glorfindel notice the kettle hanging over the fire.  “When did you learn to make lembas?” he asked. “I thought that was a secret that Galadriel only taught women.”

“Oh, you know me,” Gildor said slyly.  “I would compliment the cooks in Lothlorien on a regular basis, and then I would say, ‘tell me just one of the ingredients’, and they would.  No one ever gave away the entire recipe, and there were times I was told the same thing over, but eventually I had the whole list. Then I just had to experiment until I got it mostly right.  I added a few things, too… extracts for flavor, more water so it was not so dense. I have three different viable variations of it.” Gildor leaned down to kiss Glorfindel’s forehead. “I will be back very soon.  I… give you this gift of ‘cat’ until I return,” he said as the cat wandered by and he plucked the animal from the ground and placed him on the couch with Glorfindel.

“Thank you.  You are too kind,” said Glorfindel with a little chuckle as the cat gave him a bewildered look as if to say ‘I just KNOW I was on the floor a moment ago…’.

When Gildor returned, the cat was gone and Glorfindel was propped up on his elbow.  “I think I would like to sit up in the rocker,” he said.

“Of course,” said Gildor, and he set the food on a table beside the chair, and then helped Glorfindel there.  He brought a blanket to cover Glorfindel, and moved another chair closer for himself. “I was thinking about something when I was picking berries for you.  Let me know if this is a terrible idea or not.”

“Go on,” encouraged Glorfindel, who only nibbled at the food and sipped the water.

“Would it help you if I were to add words like ‘vagina’ into my daily vocabulary so that hearing them and speaking about them became normal so that you do not feel like you cannot say these things?  Because, honestly, no one should think the word ‘vagina’ is taboo. Think of how many times you have said the word ‘penis’ in your life and never blushed about it. Well, Fingon does, but that is Fingon.  That is another story entirely,” recognized Gildor. “If it would help you, I will do this. If it upsets you or disgusts you, then I will not.”

For a little while, Glorfindel thought this over.  “Maybe we should try that,” he finally said. “As long as you do not use it in some negative way.”

“So, saying something like, ‘look at that bloke at the next market stall, his nose looks like a penis and his mouth looks like a vagina’ would be inappropriate,” Gildor said with a straight face.

“More than likely,” agreed Glorfindel, keeping his expression even as well.  “Unless of course his chin also looked like a scrotum, and then, and only then, do I think it necessary for you to point out--well, I mean, if that was the case, then we could just see it without you describing for us.”

“I see.”  Gildor drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, determined not to be the first to laugh.  “What if--what about unfortunately formed fruit and vegetables? What if I should find--oh! Oh, I have to share this with you,” he said, and Glorfindel looked with interest as Gildor took up one of the larger strawberries and bit half of it off from the end.  “When I was a child, I used to do this all the time.” He nibbled off the two points formed on either end, and now when he held up the berry to show Glorfindel the remaining piece, it had a slit in it and was very reminiscent of-- “When I was older, my mother used this and then a banana with two apricots to explain anatomy to me.  But, when I was younger, and I did not have that lesson yet, I used to bit off the ends of strawberries like this and stick my tongue in like this and wiggle it around.” Gildor demonstrated, and this did earn a little laugh from Glorfindel. “Right? So, my parents, they would laugh so hard about this, and constantly told me not to display this behavior in front of my grandparents or great-grandparents.  My mother even said to my father once ‘well, I guess I know how he is going to turn out’. Of course, then, the day I brought my first boyfriend home to meet my father, all he said was ‘hmm, interesting’, and I knew exactly what was in his mind, and so then I told my father that I was taking that unsuspecting young man I found out to pick fresh strawberries, and my father just about lost it. I thought he was going to choke on his laughter.”

“You father seems like the most delightful man in all of creation,” said Glorfindel.

“My parents are the best,” agreed Gildor.  “Anyhow, that is why strawberries will always remind me of vaginas.”  He stuck his tongue back into the void before he ate the rest of the berry.

“Were you ever with a woman?” asked Glorfindel.

Gildor shook his head.

“Can I ask a very personal question about that?” Glorfindel continued.

“Is it ‘how do I know what a vagina looks like if I have never been with a woman’?” countered Gildor.

Glorfindel shook his head.  “I want to ask, how do you know you are gay if you have never spent time with a woman?”

“Hmm.  Well, how do heterosexual people know they are straight if they have never spent time with someone of the same gender?” asked Gildor.  “For that matter, does it have anything to do with sexuality at all, or is that just a bonus to finding someone you can live with for the rest of your life?”  He picked up another strawberry and answered with, “I really like penises up my ass. Well, just one penis at a time, and just Mae Mae’s penis. For me, I suppose it was about the sex.  But also companionship. I needed someone who could accept my… flighty nature, and someone who was secure enough to see me kissing or fondling another man, and knowing that at the end of the night, the only person whose cock would be in my mouth or up my butt would be the one belonging to my beloved.”

“That is, um… strangely beautiful to hear,” said Glorfindel.

“I mean, Maedhros and I had a really long, heartfelt talk the other day, and he did say he was comfortable with any of the penises in this household ending up in my mouth, except for Asfaloth’s, which… right, so, question--do you think his penis is elf-sized when he is in elf form, or horse-sized when he is in elf form?”

“I… I do not want to know,” answered Glorfindel after he contemplated this.

“Fair enough.”  Gildor lifted a berry to Glorfindel’s lips to coax him to eat.  “I do adore your horse, by the way. I just think sucking on his cock would be going too far.”

“I agree, and I also do not think he would want that.  I mean, I should not speak for him, but… good to know that Maedhros and I are on the same page with that one,” Glorfindel said.

Gildor made sure that Glorfindel ate a few more bites of strawberry and lembas before he said, “There was one woman once that--stop grinning like that--whom I thought, well, maybe.  Maybe. If I tell you who it was, you have to promise not to say a word to her if you ever happen across her on the street or something, which will probably not happen, because she probably stayed in Middle-earth.”

“Tell me,” demanded Glorfindel giddily.  The gossiping seemed to help him to keep his mind off of the aches and pains that were diminishing, but doing so slowly.

“Alright.  Not a word, though.  No telling your husbands, either, though I doubt Fingon would ever have heard of her.”

“The suspense, Gildor!  Out with it!” 

Gildor cleared his throat.  “Alright. Here I go. Just a moment.”  He cleared his throat again. “Do you remember the captain in Mirkwood?”

“Which one?” asked Glorfindel.  “No, wait, you are making me guess.  Not fair. Give me her name, Gildor.”

Gildor sighed.  “Her name was Tauriel, and--”

“The tall redhead!” Glorfindel clapped his hands once and pointed a finger at Gildor.  “You have a type.”

“I…”

“You tried to convince me several times to dye my hair red, just for fun, as you put it,” Glorfindel reminded him.  “And this.” Glorfindel reached over to toy with the ends of Gildor’s hair. “You have a thing for red hair.”

“Alright, I do.  It is just so pretty.  Do you know who would look lovely with red hair?” asked Gildor.

“Probably everyone, in your opinion,” said Glorfindel.

“Alright, fair, I deserve that,” said Gildor.  “Erestor. I want to see him with, not red hair like MaeMae, but like, highlights or a very subtle red tint.”

“We actually entertained that thought once,” Glorfindel recalled.

“And you waited for me to act on it.  Splendid!” Gildor picked up another berry.  “But, yes, Tauriel. It was not just the hair, either.  She was very intense, from what I remember of her. She caught me and two other fellows in the king’s bath one night drinking his wine.  I invited her to join us. She invited me to stay in the dungeon if we did not vacate immediately.” Gildor smiled. “She was almost as much fun to mess with as Erestor was when I was just playing with him and not making his life miserable.”

“She lives here on the island,” Glorfindel informed him.

“Shut up!  No… oh, am I going to run into her on a regular basis when Maedhros and I move here?” asked Gildor.

“To be honest, you probably will,” realized Glorfindel.  “She has a shop off the main street of the market district.  She does leatherworking and metalcraft, and is very finely skilled at it.  Officially, she makes some of the finest saddles and bridles on the island.  Unofficially, there is a little room where she keeps… you know.”

Gildor’s excitement grew again.  “I wanted to ask you the last time we were here who on the island supplied the need for intimate playthings, but I did not want to presume the three of you were into that sort of thing.”

“As soon as I am able to stay upright for a sustained period of time again, I will take you there,” said Glorfindel.

Another strawberry was offered to Glorfindel.  “Are you feeling any better?” 

“A little.  I usually spend the first two days resting.  I bleed a lot for the first three. It comes out in big chunks sometimes, and I--”  He coughed, and groaned. “Oh fuck.” He set the half-eaten berry down and pulled the blanket to the side.  “Coughing, sneezing… these are my enemies while this is going on. It just causes the floodgates to open, and, whoosh.”  Glorfindel struggled to stand up, and Gildor was up to aid him immediately. “I might need you to retrieve a fresh loincloth for me.”

“I will as soon as I get you to the washroom,” said Gildor.  Once Glorfindel reached his destination, Gildor went to retrieve several loincloths to have them on hand.  He came back to find that both of the ones Glorfindel had on were discarded on the floor, as well as the cloth.  “Wow. That is seriously a lot of blood and… you know the solid parts are not just clotted blood, but also the discharged lining from your uterus, right?” asked Gildor.

“I never really researched that,” admitted Glorfindel.  He watched over his shoulder as Gildor cleaned up the mess and took the cloths to join the linens that still needed tending.  When Gildor returned, Glorfindel asked, “I have another question.”

“Sure.  Something health-related?” guessed Gildor.  He was crouched down, wiping the blood from the floor.

Glorfindel nodded.  “The healer who performed the surgery told me I could not conceive.  Is it possible they were wrong about that?” There was a hopeful note to Glorfindel’s voice.

Gildor stood up and came nearer so that he could place his hand upon Glorfindel’s head and stroke his hair.  He looked down for a moment, and then shook his head. “I have obviously encountered a lot of women over the years with questions about conception.  One of the things I do is look at the discharge and measure their symptoms. Besides the fact that you have told me that another healer deemed your womb unsuitable, I can see that you have rather large, dark pieces of discharge.  You are cramping considerably. You bleed quickly. While these individual facts do not necessarily mean you are in effect sterile, together with the knowledge another healer has provided would lead me to conclude the same. Furthermore, you did manage to father a child, and there are as yet no cases known of someone like you being able to do both.  I am so sorry, because I can see the pain in your face, and I feel like…” Gildor blinked and a tear ran down his cheek. “I feel you were hoping for another answer.”

Glorfindel was silently crying too, and he used the back of his hand to wipe the tears away.  “I was just hoping, maybe, for Erestor. He always wanted children so badly.” Glorfindel wiped the fresh tears away and admitted, “I guess maybe I did, too.”

“Sweetheart.  I am so sorry.”  Gildor bent down to hug Glorfindel and kiss the top of his head.  “It seems cruel that you should be made to contend with this. You have practically everything you need, and yet, none of it works how you want it to.  On top of that, you still have to deal with this bloody mess, no pun intended.” Gildor shook his head. “And people wonder why I am unable to believe in this idea of a higher power watching over all of us.  I mean, how could he do this to you? He gives you hope, he takes it away--oh, but here, have all the shitty parts of it. No father would make his children suffer like this.”

Glorfindel sniffled.  “Thank you for bringing the loincloths,” he said, and Gildor nodded.  “I think maybe I will take you up on that offer of cheesecake afterall,” he said.

“One cheesecake, coming right up, after I help you here,” promised Gildor.

####  Late morning, Day 15

  
  


Again, Erestor headed off to work at the library while Gildor declared that he would be seeing to all of Glorfindel’s needs for the day.  It left Maedhros to help Fingon in the garden and greenhouse, and eventually, with a task Fingon considered leaving to the next day when Gildor might be able to aid him, but Maedhros insisted he could help with.

Fingon set down the small axe and the rope he had with him.  Maedhros steadied the ladder he had been carrying under one arm against the nearest tree.  “As you can see, the path through these woods gets overgrown rather quickly. One of my self-appointed tasks is to keep it clear.  The purpose is a little hazy… we rarely come out into the woods, and we honestly just think they belong to us even though that is not clear on our documents of residency, but there is a path, and we keep it clear.  Or rather, I keep it clear. It just seems the right thing to do.”

“So we are cutting down wayward branches and murdering baby trees and possibly trespassing while doing it.  Got it,” confirmed Maedhros.

Fingon’s shoulders slumped.  “If I let them all grow… this is why I should have brought Gildor,” he huffed as he moved the ladder to what he was sure Maedhros would refer to as his first ‘victim’.

“Oh, stop it, Fin,” said Maedhros as he leaned against one of the oaks.  He looked around at the diversity of trees around them. “I am not used to seeing pines and maples and the others right next to each other.  It almost seems purposeful.”

“The really big ones were.  You can tell from the distance between them.  Everything else is just a forest of chaos.” Fingon climbed up the ladder, which Maedhros stepped over to steady a moment later.  “Can you hand me the axe? This branch has to go.”

“Sure.”  Maedhros left the ladder to quickly retrieve the axe and brought it back.  “I assume the rope is to take the branches back with us?”

“I have no intention of wasting what I cut down,” said Fingon as he took the first swing at the branch.  This one and several more were severed and piled up over the rope that was stretched out to easily bundle them at the end. 

They wandered deeper into the woods, dragging the bundle with them as they went.  Conversation was simple and sparse, but not unfriendly. In fact, they would agree if asked that it was the most pleasant time they had spent together since their tumultuous parting.  When they reached a spruce, Maedhros reached out to stroke a low branch of soft blue-green needles and said, “I always think fondly of these trees. They remind me of you.” He waited until Fingon set the ladder down and looked at him.  “They remind me of us.”

“We had some nice times together,” Fingon finally admitted.

“Good.  So it was not all for naught.”  Maedhros rested his elbow on Fingon’s shoulder.  “This is very convenient for me that you got taller,” he said with a smirk.

Fingon laughed and shoved Maedhros’ arm away.  “Fuck you,” he said, continuing to laugh, and Maedhros grinned as he came to assist with the ladder again.  “Now you make me feel bad that I have to cut some of these,” Fingon said as he fought to find a good angle that kept the branches from tangling with his braids.  “Shit, can you hold that one for me?”

“This one?  Sure.” Maedhros gripped the branch with his hand while he kept his hip against the ladder.  “Just be careful. This is a big one.”

“Uh huh.”  Fingon, who also had one hand on the upper part of the branch, swung the axe semi-blindly as far up as he was comfortable.  After a dozen swings, he grunted and lowered his arm for a few moments. “This one is pretty firm about not coming down.”

“Just leaf it alone then.”

Fingon closed his eyes and groaned.  “I ‘wood’ but I already started.” He lifted his arm again and took another few whacks.  “Maybe a saw would have been -- oh, shit! Shit, grab -- dammit!” The branch, being quite heavy to begin with, cracked the rest of the way on its own.  This caused a chain reaction of Maedhros losing balance and flailing, the branch swinging opposite of the way Fingon hoped it would, Fingon being hit on the head with the branch, Maedhros dropping the branch and stumbling over it, and Fingon dropping the axe.  “Are you alright?” Fingon finally asked after he had a moment to check his head to be sure it was not bleeding.

“Yes, but in the future, try not to take off my other hand.”

Fingon looked down, to see that the axe was on the ground very close to where Maedhros stood looking up at him.  “Sorry.”

“I did consider doing this and shouting at you,” said Maedhros as he withdrew his left hand into his sleeve to make it appear as if he had two stumps instead of one.

“That would have been really mean,” scolded Fingon.

Maedhros tilted his head and looked up at the upper boughs.  “But a little funny once I did this,” he said as he stuck just his middle finger back out of his sleeve.

“If you are going to be like that, I will aim better next time,” said Fingon as he sat down on the nearest rung of the ladder.  “I have another branch up here to cut.”

“You want the axe?”

“If you please,” said Fingon.

“My daddy uses a saw!”

Both Elves looked around and spied the owner of the little voice at about the same time.  “Saws are also an effective tool,” said Fingon.

“Uh huh!”  The elfling, who was smartly dressed in a green and brown tunic and tan leggings with matching boots bobbed his head up and down.  He looked between them and then said loudly, “I live over there!”

Fingon looked in the direction that the lad pointed.  “You live in the trees?”

The boy turned around and then turned back.  “I live more further over there. Mama says we are neighbors!” 

“Great, you can find out if we are trespassing,” whispered Maedhros.

“Does your mama know you are here?” asked Fingon gently instead.

“Uh huh!” the elfling said with a note of determination in his voice.  “This morning, Mama told me if I wanted to be a farmer so bad, I should just come over here and talk to the damned faggot farmer anyhow.  Are one of you the faggot farmer?” he asked.

“You take this one,” suggested Maedhros, while Fingon just stared down at the boy with his mouth slightly open.

“I come bearing gifts!” called out another voice, and through the rustle of the foliage, it was evident to the adults that Gildor was approaching.  “Yoohoo! You took no liquid refreshment with you, and no one wants you dehydrating your pretty selves!” 

If the boy heard, he said nothing, and continued to ask questions.  “I was also wondering, when Mama says ‘faggot farmer’, are faggots something that gets farmed, or is it an adjective?”

Maedhros looked up in the tree at Fingon.  “His face is so innocent. Why are those words coming out of his mouth?”

“Because he has asshole parents,” remarked Fingon under his breath as he climbed down the ladder.  He reached the ground at just about the same time Gildor arrived with a bucket of water and a ladle. 

“Drink up, drink-- oh!  Small child alert. Immediately toning down my everything,” said Gildor to himself.  “Good day, little sir,” he said as he set down the bucket and dipped the ladle into it.  “Are you thirsty, little one?”

“Oh, yes!  Thank you!”  The boy bounced over and stood at the bucket while Gildor carefully brought the water up for him.  After he drank his fill, the ladle was passed to Fingon.

“What is your name, precious child?” asked Gildor once the boy took an interest in the shiny axe that was still discarded on the ground.  

“Eruglar,” he replied cheerfully, which was followed up with, “Are you the faggot farmer?”

“I was going to warn you about that,” apologized Maedhros when Gildor stood up with a frown.  

Fingon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after he drank.  “He says his mother sent him over here, but I think she did not actually intend him to come here,” said Fingon.  “I think she would be furious to know he was here right now.”

Gildor listened to a quick recounting of what little had transpired before he turned back to the boy.  “Well, it is rather rude if I do not answer your question. While I am not a farmer, I am a very dedicated faggot,” he said quite proudly.  Behind him, Fingon groaned and shook his head. “Where did you learn that word?”

“My daddy says it all the time.  ‘Damn faggots are taking all the jobs on the island’ and ‘Damn faggots running around naked outside again’ and ‘Damn faggots got the nerve to bring more faggots here’ and--”

“Oh, I think we get it,” Gildor cut off.  

“That answers the question of whether anyone can see us out by the hot spring,” sighed Fingon.

The boy put a hand by his mouth and whispered, “Only he never says ‘damn’.  He says the word I cannot say or I get the soap block in my mouth. It makes it an alliteration.”

“Charming.”  Gildor’s mouth was drawn into a straight line as he looked down at the boy.

“Gildor,” warned Maedhros.

Gildor crouched back down.  “Do you know what a faggot is?” he asked the boy.  The youngling shook his head back and forth, dusty blond hair catching over his ears.  “Well,” said Gildor as he flipped his hair back, “do you know how some little boys only like other little boys and think girls are icky?”

The boy nodded his head with wide eyes.  “I think all boys think girls are icky at some point,” he said sagely.

“Well, faggots are little boys who either always thought girls were icky, or, maybe they thought girls were not too bad, and later decided they just liked boys a whole lot better.  I like boys, and I think girls are, well, girls. I really like boys, though,” said Gildor. 

“What does your wife think about that?” asked the boy.

Gildor did not need to answer this question.  “He has no wife,” said Maedhros. “I am also a faggot,” he said firmly.  “We decided neither of us want a wife, so we are each other’s husband instead.”

The boy looked back and forth between them.  “Neat!” he finally said. “Since all boys sometimes think girls are icky, that makes all boys faggots!” he said.

“Well…”  but Fingon’s concern was overruled.

“That is a very good way of looking at it,” said Gildor smugly.  “Some boys stay faggots, and some boys decide they like girls.”

“I hate girls!” said the boy.  “My sister is soooo bossy, and her friends are always saying ‘Eruglar, you are such a child!’.  Being a faggot sounds like fun, because I like boys and I am a boy!” Eruglar now turned to Fingon, who had been mostly silent throughout the exchange.  Looking up at the elf who held the ladle and kept on the lookout for angry parents to come charging down the path at any moment, the boy asked, “Are you a faggot, too, sir?”

“What an inquisitive question!”  Gildor stood back up and looked at Fingon.  “Yes, Fingon, what say you?”

Fingon looked from Gildor to Maedhros before he looked down at the boy.  “I am the king of the faggots,” he said very matter-of-factly.

“Is this your kingdom?” The boy looked around in awe.  “This is so big! Daddy is always mad about the woods. He is a carpenter, and he says all these trees go to waste back here.  He says to stay out of here but Mama did tell me to come talk to the faggot farmer,” said the boy with a shrug. “I was not going to be able to walk all the way around to knock on the door properly before lunch, and Mama gets mad if I do not get back in time for lunch.”

“This is my kingdom, and you can come here whenever you like,” said Fingon.

“Great!  Because I want to know all about being a faggot now.  I want to be a faggot, too!”

Fingon turned to Maedhros during the lull in the conversation.  “His parents are going to kill us,” he whispered as he passed behind Maedhros.  Maedhros gave Fingon a doubtful look.

“Eruglar!  Eruglar, lunchtime!”

“Oh, no!  I got to go!”  Eruglar raced off down the path.  

“Well, that was fun,” said Gildor.

“King of the faggots?” questioned Maedhros when Fingon passed by again. 

“He started it,” blamed Fingon as he thrust his thumb at Gildor.

Gildor preened as he took hold of the ladle.  “The faggot is a noble creature,” he said in the most practiced way possible.  He sipped some water, and then a replay of the conversation in his head made him pause.  “You called me your husband,” he said to Maedhros.

“So I did.”  Maedhros shrugged.  “May I do so?”

The ladle was pointed at Maedhros.  “You told me we had to come up with something else because it was inappropriate for our situation.”

“Can I not change my mind?”  Maedhros shrugged again. “So I was wrong.”

Gildor placed his free hand on Fingon’s shoulder.  “Did you hear that? He just told me he was wrong about something.  I think that might be the sweetest thing he has ever said to me.” The ladle was handed off to Fingon so that Gildor could approach Maedhros.  “Do I get to call you husband as well?”

A small smile graced Maedhros’ lips.  “If you wish.”

Gildor sauntered his way over and danced his fingers down Maedhros chest.  “I was thinking either that, or ‘my favorite faggot’.” The two of them laughed and rubbed noses together, while Fingon leaned up against a tree and happily watched the scene play out.  “Say it again,” requested Gildor, fingertip resting over Maedhros’ lips.

“You are my husband,” said Maedhros, and he followed with a kiss to the tip of Gildor’s finger.  

With a satisfied smile, Gildor placed a hand upon his own chest.  “I rarely become moved like this, but…” He tapped his breast with his fingers.  “This means a lot to me.” Gildor stretched up to kiss Maedhros. “I will return in an hour with lunch, husband.”

“I look forward to that, my husband.”  Maedhros received another kiss, this one far more passionate, and it was evident if they did not both have tasks at hand, more would have come of it.  

Gildor walked back down the path, and thrice turned around to blow kisses and waves at Maedhros.  When he was finally out of sight and hearing, Fingon said, “Well, someone turned into a big old softie.”

“Shut up.”  Maedhros retrieved the axe.  “Come on. It is Gildor. He is fucking charming and you know it.  Not a single faggot is immune to his charisma.”

“Can we agree not to use that word anymore?” asked Fingon.  

Maedhros gave a nod.  “Right. You are right on that.”  He followed Fingon back to the tree they were previously working on.  “What do you prefer, if I may ask?”

“What do you mean?” Fingon made his way back up the ladder.

“I mean, what do you call others like us, or, yourself?  Gay, queer, homosexual?” Maedhros held up the axe for Fingon.

Fingon gripped the handle and frowned.  “People should use what they are comfortable with so long as they are not offending others.”

“There is something else hiding in that answer, Fin,” recognized Maedhros.

Fingon gave a few whacks at the branch before he took a rest.  “Did Gildor tell you why Glorfindel was up so early this morning?” he asked.

“He told me a few things,” said Maedhros.  “Does it bother you? What Glorfindel is?”

“No.  It is me,” replied Fingon.  He leaned his arms on the top rung of the ladder and stared at the bark.  “I had an encounter with him the other day, and since then, I have had a yearning within me, and… I fear I might not be gay.  I think I might be bisexual.”

“And this upsets you?” asked Maedhros.

“It confuses me.  It… I am having some trouble reconciling that with myself.”

“Ah.  Did you speak to your husbands about this?”  Maedhros snorted. “No… of course not. If you had, we would not be having this conversation.”

“They have enough to deal with regarding me already,” said Fingon.

“Oh, not this again… Fin, just tell them.  Even if you just write a note and hand it to them, just tell them,” advised Maedhros.  “Most of your problems come from being silent.”

“I just… I want to do things with Glorfindel that I do not think he would want, and--”

“What do you want to do with him?  From what Gildor told me, you cannot have sex with him the way you would with a woman, so--”

“No!  I--” Fingon grunted.  “I just--” Fingon pouted.

“Use your words, Fingon,” sighed Maedhros.

Fingon took a deep breath.  “I want to see what he tastes like.  Not right now, I mean, not the blood… well, maybe?” he suddenly realized.

“Oh, just tell him that, Fin,” groaned Maedhros.  “He will say no if he does not want you to. Seriously, you are impossible sometimes.”

“What if he thinks I am weird?” asked Fingon.

“You are already weird,” countered Maedhros.  “If he does not think that already, it means he is completely oblivious.  Come on. Get that last branch down and then we can go back so that I can have lunch with my husband, and you can… maybe have lunch with yours.”

“Maybe?  Oh.” Fingon rolled his eyes.  “I am not going to tell him now.”

“Fine.  I will.”

“No!”

“Fin, you are being ridiculous.  Just tell him.” Maedhros grasped the ladder.  “Promise me you will talk to him when we get back to the house, or I am going to pull this away and leave you hanging up in that tree all afternoon.”

“First, I can jump to the ground from here.  Second, stop being mean to me.”

“Have you ever heard the expression ‘cruel to be kind’?”

Fingon glared down at Maedhros.  “Alright. I will try to tell him when we get back.”

“Good.  Or I will.”

“Maedhros,” whined Fingon.

“It will be for your own good!  Now take down that branch so we can get back to the house before the parents of that little boy come out here to have a stern conversation with us, because I feel that is inevitable,” said Maedhros.

“Crap, I forgot about that,” admitted Fingon.  He took down the branch with vigor, and he and Maedhros brought the tools, ladder, and branches back in short order.  

They entered the house just as Gildor was packing up a basket of food.  “Oh! I was about to bring lunch to you,” Gildor said.

“I have an idea,” said Maedhros as he picked up the basket.  “There is a little river south of here. How about you and I go on a little picnic?  Fingon can make lunch for Glorfindel and himself. I think he wants to talk to Glorfindel privately, so we could take Asfaloth with us,” suggested Maedhros.

This was agreed upon by all.  Shortly after Gildor and Maedhros left, Fingon prepared a simple lunch for himself and Glorfindel.  He took it to the sitting room, where Glorfindel was sleeping in the rocking chair. After he set the tray down, he leaned down to kiss Glorfindel on the cheek.

“Whzzznk?” Glorfindel murmured, blinking and re-orienting himself. “Mmmmwhhh. Oh. I am sorry,” he rubbed his eyes. “I was so...have you ever had that thing happen where you are so far gone that when you awaken, you have a moment where you do not know where you are?” he asked softly, reaching for Fingon’s hand. Still, whatever medicines Gildor had given him were helping, and he felt a little rested. It was far more than he had ever had when this occurred in the past.

“Happened to me yesterday.  I blame and thank Gildor. How are you feeling?” Fingon asked, taking the offered hand.

“Compared to before, like I could run around skipping and casting flower petals down the garden path,” he joked. “I am not in any pain at the moment, though I worry when the medicine will wear off. I can hardly describe what a relief this has been. To have someone know what to do. I have never known what to do and…” Glorfindel shrugged. “I know it sounds maudlin but I felt like I was meant to just endure this on my own. I have been ashamed of how I am.”

Fingon brought Glorfindel’s hand to his lips and kissed it.  “There is nothing to be ashamed of. Eru made us both as he intended, and I think both of us could use a little more support from each other.  To that end…” Fingon knelt down before the rocker and took hold of both of Glorfindel’s hands. “You are beautiful and perfect and I love you.”  He brought both of Glorfindel’s hands to his face, nuzzled them, and peppered kisses over them. “My calendar is clear and I want to spend the afternoon with you.  I have lunch for you, darling, and Gildor left something for you if you need it. He also mentioned a cheesecake for dessert.”

“You actually want to spend time with a man on his period?” Glorfindel asked, unable to fully suppress a smile at the absurdity of his body. “That is kind of you, and brave.”

“Hey, I have a sister.  I was the good brother. I used to rub her back and agree with her every time she called boys weak and stupid.”  Fingon kissed Glorfindel’s hand again. “Have you been out to the hot spring yet today? A hot bath always helped her.”

“I have not,” Glorfindel said. “But...I will bleed into the water and…” he looked up, waiting for evidence of disgust. “That will not bother you?”

“You stand a better chance of getting blood on the ground than you do getting blood in the water.  If you were showering in a waterfall, then yes, you would keep bleeding. The pressure of the water surrounding you might cause trace amounts of bleeding, but it is not going to come gushing out unless you contract the muscles a lot.”  Fingon smiled. “I am very willing to impart my knowledge upon you as it relates to menstruation. Anyhow, no, it will not bother me. It only bothers assholes and the uninformed.”

“I just meant...you are fastidious. We change the sheets all the time because you prefer cleanliness and…” Glorfindel sighed. “I guess I am the uninformed asshole.”

“No, sweetheart.  I am just difficult and contradictory,” said Fingon.  “Last night, we were scuffling about in the dirt with blood all over.  The blood did not bother me, and honestly, I guess the dirt did not either, because we were outside.”  Fingon shrugged. “It is just blood.”

Glorfindel smiled and nodded, not wishing to turn a kind gesture on Fingon’s part into senseless bickering over inanities. “We can do whatever you think best. I feel a little fuzzy in my mind, so I am not the best activity director at the moment.”

“Lunch first, but after that, we will do whatever you prefer,” said Fingon.  “There is no need to make ordered plans. I just want to help you feel better.”  He stood up and leaned in to kiss Glorfindel’s cheek before he let go of his hands.  He retrieved the tray and brought it to the table beside the rocking chair. “I tried to guess at what you might like.  If there is something else you would prefer, let me know.”

“I will gratefully eat anything that does not feature cabbage,” Glorfindel smiled. “Thank you for this thoughtfulness. It is very sweet of you. How about you? Are you feeling well enough after yesterday? That was....I learned a lot, from that. And I feel like I owe you an apology. I really did not understand and though I meant to help you, I think I made everything worse in the beginning. I truly am sorry for having added to your distress.”

Fingon tilted his head as he poured a glass of juice for Glorfindel and then one for himself.  “I do not recall you adding stress. Neither you nor Erestor left; both of you… reacted admirably, considering my unconventional request.”  Fingon sat down beside Glorfindel and took a poker from the bin to coax the fire. “I have had a relatively good day. I nearly took off Maedhros’ other hand, so I suppose that would be the only unfortunate occurrence, but we had an excellent discussion on tool safety as we brought the wood back, and good news, I missed.  But… I feel like today is going to be a good day.” He chewed at his lip and then added, “There is something I want to talk to you about, but perhaps later. I need to find my words first.”

“Did they go somewhere?” Glorfindel asked, not fully comprehending the statement. “Ooooh, you made me bacon with potatoes and eggs...this is so nice!” He took Fingon’s hand and kissed the back of it, excited in a childlike way.

Fingon returned the excitement with one of his rare and brief smiles.  “I have to make a confession about bacon. It is one of my guilty pleasures.  I know I am constantly saying I only eat seafood and some game meat, but bacon is… bacon.  There is nothing quite like bacon, and hogs would have been so much better if they had been created entirely of bacon.  I once ate an entire slab of bacon on my own, and another time I ate raw bacon, which was not one of my finer moments.”

“I feel like I am seeing a whole other side of you,” Glorfindel teased, offering a small piece of bacon to Fingon after carefully slicing it off with his utensils.

Instead of taking the bacon with his fingers, Fingon leaned in to nibble at the morsel.  He kept his gaze on Glorfindel the whole time, and licked at Glorfindel’s fingers until every bit of the bacon was gone.  “See there? You have me eating out of your hand,” he teased back.

“I do not mind,” Glorfindel told him, mesmerized. “I wonder if you have any idea how beautiful your eyes are. I rarely get to look at them in the way I would like to,” he confessed.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful your eyes are?” whispered Fingon.  He continued to stare into them. “I still have not figured out if they are blue with green or green with blue, but I do know that I find such peace with that color.  I have tried to find a flower that matches, but nothing quite does. It is as if Eru picked it out just for you.”

An amused shake of the head followed that comment. “No, nothing so interesting. Someday perhaps you will take a very close look at both my parents together. My eyes are a blend of theirs. The color mostly I owe to mother. Her eyes I think are more beautiful still, so I can thank her for them. I am glad you like them, though. It has always mattered to me, that I please you.” The last part was said softly, and with a blush of shyness.

“You please me very much, Glorfindel.  You are very easy to love, and you are yourself very loving.  I can only hope that someday I might please you half as well as you please me.”

“Do not be silly,” Glorfindel smiled. “I love you very much. You are...you, which is...I think you are very great, Fingon. To see you happy, content, at peace...that is all I want for both you and Ress. It is all that matters to me.”

Fingon studied Glorfindel’s eyes a little longer, and then he cupped Glorfindel’s cheek and leaned in to kiss him with a great deal of passion and longing.  When he sat back down again, fingers slipping away, he said, “I did not mean to be so impulsive. I lost my words again.”

Fingers tracing over his lips, Glorfindel had felt his insides lurch and the food suddenly was of lesser interest. “I wish you would do that again. I wish I could sit with you and not make a mess. Your food is very good, but that was better still.” The colorful eyes now appeared wistful, but tinged with hope.

“I care very little if a mess is made.  Besides, I am the only one who really fusses if there is a mess, so…”  Fingon stood up so that he could help Glorfindel to stand. Dressed in only a tunic and the wrappings of the loin cloths, Glorfindel watched as Fingon unfastened the outer layer and let it drop to the floor.  There was blood staining the inner cloth, and Fingon took a moment to unfasten his belt and drop his trousers down before he sat back down on the wooden chair he had been using. Fingon coaxed Glorfindel to straddle him, and once they were sitting on the chair together, Fingon’s hand moved back to the back of Glorfindel’s neck, and hungrily pulled him close once again for a kiss deeper than the first.

Whimpering, Glorfindel melted into the affection that came so unexpectedly, his thoughts a jumble. Part of his mind was in fearful turmoil of bleeding on his husband, while some more logical part understood that this was not only unobjectionable--it was possibly even wanted. He had seen yesterday that Fingon was not shy about blood and--the thought excited him at the same time he feared to misunderstand. There was only one way to be certain.  _ Can you tell me this way? Explain to me? I am afraid to do something that will disgust you. Anything you want, I will give it to you. I only do not want to ruin this. _

In the position they were in, they were nearly eye-level, but Fingon had to tilt his head slightly.  He licked his lips as he drew back for a moment, his hands upon Glorfindel’s thighs, caressing them.  _ My thoughts turn constantly to you.  _  He took in those beautiful eyes, and they seemed to give him strength to continue.   _ I am… curious.  I want to pick up where we left off the other day.  I want to love you as you are, fully as you are, to whatever capacity you are willing.  I have…  _ For a fleeting moment, Fingon looked away.   _ I have a desire to taste you.  At some point. I do not wish to force this upon you.  If this is too much, stop me.  _ He looked back.   _ I wish only to love you in the best way I can.  I think of you in my dreams, Glorfindel, and they are powerful dreams. _

For some moments the sea green eyes stared into Fingon’s, processing what he had been told. Many considerations tumbled to and fro, but above all one stood out more than the others.  _ You really do accept me.  _ A smile of deep inner happiness welled up. Not a flagrant or a brilliant one, but one that reflected peace.  _ I will not stop you. I only ask you to be patient and gentle. I cannot endure vigorous intercourse, if that is what you mean to explore. I have never had someone be willing to go slowly, or really care about me. I know you would never intentionally cause me pain.  _ He leaned toward Fingon again, kissing at his lips hungrily, excited and only a little nervous to see what his husband wanted.

With eyes wide, Fingon returned the kisses.  His mind was suddenly whirling, and he found it difficult to concentrate enough to use their connection to convey his thoughts.  He slackened his jaw slightly, kissed at Glorfindel’s chin, and said, “I am… very overwhelmed by what you offer. I was… I thought I would maybe just try to use my tongue but…”  Fingon’s mouth moved as he fought to regain his ability to communicate in some way. His own loincloth bulged enough to convey his body’s feelings on the topic. Fingon trembled as he lifted a hand to card his fingers through Glorfindel’s hair.  “What do you want, my love? What desire do you have?”

“I will be honest, I am a little afraid of the pain. I think you know what Faelion did to me, that left me bleeding. Sometimes it was very bad. He rutted like a stag in...you know, I do not even want to talk about that because you are not him nor will you ever be. There is a part of me that wonders if it could be like it was...like how you had to find a way to move on from your experience with Maedhros but there was fear? That you wanted to see if there was something different but what happened with him caused you to anticipate pain? I want to believe it can be like that, that I can maybe even find enjoyment. Erestor made me think this even more, when he used his fingers inside of me there. It felt good. So good. I want that with you, but what do I know about being with a woman? There is so very little I recall from the days in Gondolin with my wife, and we were only intimate in order to produce a child.  I have the parts but am like Erestor in the kitchen. I have almost no idea what to do and I only pray not to burn the place down.”

“One never knows unless they try,” offered Fingon.  “We can keep a bucket of water on hand just in case.  Damn, that sounded better in my head, and I really need to learn to censor myself,” he scolded with a shake of his head.

“Well, then…” Glorfindel said bashfully while the back of his hand moved down to rub gently at the swelling in Fingon’s loincloth. The other hand caressed his husband’s cheek. “I am yours.”

Slowly, Fingon’s hands shakily traveled along Glorfindel’s thighs, up to his hips, where he loosened the bloodied cloth.  “You are so beautiful,” Fingon whispered, and he leaned in to kiss a path down Glorfindel’s chest. “Do you want to stay here or go upstairs or somewhere else?”

“Upstairs, with enough cloth to protect the bed. And I think I should take what Gildor left for me. If the pain returns it will not aid our cause. But...I can see in your eyes that you want me...it feels unreal. Like I will wake up, and find I dreamed all of this.”

Spurred on by previously unknown desire, Fingon easily aided Glorfindel to stand before he stood as well.  “Sit here,” he coaxed, and brought Glorfindel the vial Gildor left as well as some water. “I am going to collect some towels and an extra blanket to place on the bed.  I will be right back.” Fingon kissed Glorfindel’s brow and was thankful that he did not need to go very far to find the necessary items in a nearby room. He returned slightly less erect, but no less interested, for the lusting look was still eagerly displayed in his eyes.

Glorfindel had just begun to ponder how he was going to navigate upstairs without leaving a trail of bloody drops in his current state of being almost divested of the fabric absorbing his menstrual flow when Fingon returned, scooping him into his arms so that it need not be an issue. “Right now I feel somewhere between completely turned on and unable to believe that you want this with me,” he said shyly, resting his head against Fingon’s chest. “Especially now. I think it is one of the things I love about you. I feel so sure I have come to understand what you  prefer and what you do not and then you surprise me. Not a little, but a lot.” Soft lips were pressed near Fingon’s collarbones.

Fingon reached the landing before he reciprocated with kisses from Glorfindel’s temple to his chin.  “What I prefer are you and Erestor, more than anything else.” Fingon nuzzled Glorfindel’s neck before he carried him the rest of the way to the bedroom.  He had the towels draped over his shoulder, and he managed to lift a leg up to rest his foot on the mattress. Swapping his arm for his thigh beneath Glorfindel’s bent knees, Fingon yanked the top towel from the pile off of his shoulder and draped it down onto the middle of the mattress.  He did this once more before he got a better hold on Glorfindel again and then placed him on top of the towels. The other two towels were arranged atop each other on the side of the bed normally used by Fingon. 

“I want you to be in control of this, honey,” said Fingon as he shed his remaining garments and crawled up onto the bed next to Glorfindel.  “Your pleasure and well-being are of great concern to me. There is a technique, you may already know this, where whomever is employing their penis lies on their--”  He stopped and tilted his head. “Huh,” was the only other thing he said before he continued. “They lie on their back, and that way the other party has control over speed, depth, and so on.  It was my wife’s preference. I think it might serve us well so that you can decide on the experience you would like to have.”

With a hesitant expression, Glorfindel nodded slowly. “I will try but--” He looked away, off to the side. “I will try.” Reaching up, he kissed Fingon’s cheek.

The uncertainty was not lost on Fingon.  “What is wrong?” he asked quietly. “If you have changed your mind, please, you will not offend me.”  Fingon lifted one of Glorfindel’s hands and nuzzled it. “Please speak to me--and if it is easier to speak without lips, I am listening, Glorfindel.”  He kissed Glorfindel’s hand and kept hold of it, pressing it with his own close to his heart.

Nodding again, Glorfindel sighed deeply.  _ It is...I have this silly fantasy of wanting what you do now to erase what he did to me. To give me new memories. I am not really very good at taking the initiative, especially for something new. I want...I trust you, Fingon. I trust that I you will pay attention to my responses. I am probably being stupid. Mostly, I do not want to ruin this for you. I do not mean to be so difficult.  _ Determined not to cry or lose control of his emotions, he blinked a little more than usual, but that was all.

“My darling, if there are any difficult parties in this room, I will have to look in a mirror to find them.”  Fingon kissed at the corners of Glorfindel’s eyes and said, “You are not stupid. You are not ruining anything.  You are very sweet and deserving of better memories than those you have. I think I understand now what you want, and what I desire, and I think we are on the same page.”  Fingon finished the work he had started downstairs, and removed the bloodied loincloth as well as the folded cloth that was soaked red. One last towel was available to him, and he folded it and placed it where it would be of most use.  “I know you have an extensive inventory of oils available,” he said, “but I do not want to accidentally use something harsh. Do you have something under the pillow that is gentle, like almond or coconut?”

“The whole world is under the pillow,” Glorfindel told him, oblivious to how charming it was that the comment was made with perfect sincerity. But...it is bloody down there and...Eres said that I make my own lubrication if I am turned on. I do not know that you will actually need anything, given all that. Faelion never used anything. When he would just go for it, things would be painful. But if he...if he sucked me off first for awhile, it was different. I do not mean that you have to put your mouth on my cock--I just mean that if I am aroused enough at least getting in there is not an issue. And I still cannot believe I am talking about this,” he laughed.

“I still cannot believe I said the word ‘penis’ to you and did not gag on it,” said Fingon.  “Uh, the… the word, not the actual… oh, bother,” he muttered bashfully.

“How about you put Erestor’s pillow kind of underneath these towels to make it easier to get to what you want in the end, and just kiss me?” The beautiful eyes batted longingly. His fair face was framed by a golden halo of his hair while his toned chest rose and fell in obvious eagerness for his lover.

For a few moments, Fingon used the backs of his fingers to caress Glorfindel’s cheek as he smiled at him and imprinted the view before him in his mind.  Then he did as he was bid to do, lips slightly parted with the first kiss. If there was one thing that Fingon excelled in when it came to lovemaking, it was his skill at kissing.  He flicked the tip of his tongue teasingly within Glorfindel’s mouth, and dragged his bottom lip over Glorfindel’s anticipating mouth, twisting back to capture another kiss, slightly sideways, when it seemed he had plans to move away.  His teeth he rarely used, for he had many techniques to entice with the softer side of it, and it seemed he intended to try each and every one of them.

Thoroughly happy to be the recipient of these attentions, Glorfindel gently moved his hand to rub at Fingon’s neck, but made no effort to wrest away any control over the encounter. If his responses were any indication, he seemed more excited and aroused by the minute. His hands softly caressed Fingon’s skin wherever he could reach it, and he opened the transparency of his thoughts. It was as opposite from their unusual interlude in the library of about a week ago as one could imagine--and clearly the blond was deriving much more enjoyment from what was taking place now.

Unhurriedly, Fingon began to kiss a path down Glorfindel’s body, from his bottom lip, around the curve of his chin, and steadily over his throat, pausing to lick the curve of the prominent lump he encountered part way down.  Then down the sternum, and over muscles not quite as defined as his own, but handsome nonetheless. His trail continued, and he slowed considerably, contemplating. The pauses between kisses became longer, and then he stopped and lifted himself up slightly.  It was hard to tell what he intended to do, for even he was uncertain of that, until he bowed his head again and touched his lips at the base of Glorfindel’s manhood. A few kisses later, there was another pause, but this seemed more for purposes of readjustment as Fingon kissed the side of the head, and then rubbed the tip with his nose before he kissed there very softly as well.

Unable to keep completely still, Glorfindel writhed a little. He felt overcome with pleasure, anticipation, appreciation, and a powerful passion for his husband. All of that was not going to find any expression in eloquent words, so he did what felt more natural. He raised and curved his leg opposite Fingon, using his toes and foot to softly caress whatever of his lover’s body he could easily reach, just to show affection. His chest rose and fell in an increased cadence, and small noises of delight added to the comely flush appearing on his chest and throat. “So good,” was the most descriptive phrase he could manage, but it was enough.

Now assured that his actions were welcomed, Fingon sat back on his haunches and pulled most of his braids together, then wrapped a few loose ones around the mass a few times and tucked them between others to hold his hair back.  He bent back down, gave the apex of Glorfindel’s erection quite a loud kiss before he began to explore further into territory not entirely unknown, but by no means recently explored. And of course, with Glorfindel, never this way.  “If anything bothers you, stop me immediately,” said Fingon, and then he bowed his head. He began with a few tentative licks above the slit from which a trail of red dribbled out. Fingon ran a finger through the blood and traced his way back to its origin. That same finger slid back and forth against the edges of Glorfindel’s opening, but did not yet hint at penetration.

Relaxing and welcoming his lover’s touch, Glorfindel simply tried to open himself to what he had faith would be a very different encounter than ever before. Sensation for him was reduced in this area, not as acute, but he still found enjoyment in the knowledge that he was wanted. All of him was wanted, not just the parts that were ‘supposed’ to be there. It should not have been so complicated, but a lifetime of being deceived and dismissed for what had not been in his control could do that to a person. “Mmmmmm,” he moaned, hoping that Fingon found it encouraging.

The pleasing sound gave Fingon some relief that his touches were appreciated, and he relaxed a little.  He found that the blood he was touching had a slightly sticky feel to it, and that, as Glorfindel predicted, far less additional lubricant would be needed, if any at all.  Fingon experimented with a single digit, sliding within but not very deep. It only took a few strokes for him to have blood on his finger up to the second knuckle, even though he was barely entering Glorfindel’s body.

Unable to help himself, Glorfindel squirmed a little, angling and shifting his hips to try and make the most of the pleasant intrusion with some added friction. “Yes. Please. That.”

One hand rested on Glorfindel’s thigh, and Fingon’s other further manipulated Glorfindel’s flesh.  Fingon did not press in further or harder, but instead used a second finger to continue. Two gave him more dexterity and options, and he curled them to stroke against the surface within.  Again, he bowed down and left a path of kisses, but these traveled back the way he had come, and only stopped when Fingon’s lips were caressing Glorfindel’s. Now they deepened, and sometimes Fingon sighed or groaned before imparting the next.  He now joined Glorfindel with movement elsewhere, and rubbed his foot along Glorfindel’s leg.

“Not fair,” Glorfindel whispered between moans. “Making me want you so badly. This is...you are…” his mind strained for the right words.  _ You are my king. Whether you ever wear a stupid crown or have none but a wreath of hay stalks stuck in your beautiful hair matters not to me. I love you and I love this and nothing ever can change that. _

_ This will probably sound like romantic silliness, but my love for you grows by the day.  I never expected to be so blessed as I am. I love you, Glorfindel,  _ Fingon declared for him only to hear.   _ I love all of you and everything about you.   _ As he said this, Fingon brought his leg up and over Glorfindel’s legs, but did not move further than this yet.  He now concentrated on where his fingers were and what they were doing. Fingon began to make small circular motions with them, and would stop every two or three to slide in and out a few times, and never very deeply, before returning to the slow circles.

Many more guttural noises erupted in response to these attentions, leaving little doubt as to which were most sought after. But aside from an occasional thrusting of his hips, Glorfindel remained passive, for much of the excitement in his eyes were the unknown possibilities of what his husband would choose to do to him. How he would decide to find their pleasure together. The small mystery felt as delicious as the means by which he was being teased and aroused to such good effect.

As expected the blood was lubricant enough to begin with, but it was sticky and created some friction.  It was also drying on Fingon’s hand where it had smeared, and he dexterously reached into the pillowcase with his clean hand to fish out several bottles of oil.  When he saw one he recognized, a basic vial of pure almond oil, Fingon grabbed it victoriously. He did not want to stop massaging Glorfindel, so it took a little time to use one hand to work the stopper out of the bottle.  

When he finally did, Fingon leaned in for a long, slow kiss as he slid his fingers in deeper, so very slowly, and back out again with just as much care.  “I cannot recall a time when I was filled with more anxious delight than I am right now. I am tingling from the back of my neck to the bottom of my spine, and out to my fingertips and toes.  You do powerful things to me, Glorfindel. Powerful things.” Fingon sat back a little and dripped some of the oil onto his stained fingers, then used his fingertips to lightly dance back and forth on either side of the slightly swollen opening before he slid his fingers easily back in, watching Glorfindel for any and all reactions to his words and movement.

The already beautiful face lit up with delight at the praise, blushing just a little more. “I am just me,” he said modestly. “But I would be lying if I denied that right now, your words and eagerness together are causing me to feel very special.” What slipped out in his uncensored thought was a little different, but equally honest.  _ Most of my life I have been made to feel ashamed for being so different. And even when my father realized his wrong--well, the impression that I am a freak, someone of whom to be ashamed--that has been slow to depart. Never before this moment has anyone made me feel as though my body is anything other than a detraction. For that alone you would have my undying gratitude.   _ Glorfindel’s hand reached up to caress Fingon’s cheek as he spoke in thought. Nothing about his tone carried self-pity or sorrow. Only candor.

The flow of words into his mind slowed his hand, but when Fingon heard ‘freak’ in his consciousness, he paused, brow furrowed, and listened to the unguarded thoughts.  “There is something I want you to remember always,” Fingon said carefully as the sting in his eyes caused him to flutter his lashes rapidly. “You and I were made for each other, moulded of one spirit.  You and I are one. You understand? I cannot be, I cannot exist, without you.” Fingon bowed his head, and a few tears splattered onto Glorfindel’s chest on Fingon’s way to kiss his lover with all the passion, desire, and love within him.

So many apologies wanted to tumble out, but those were held in check. Something far simpler, and filled with humility took the place of what would have been a stream of self-deprecation.  _ I will not forget, love. For neither can I.  _ His strong arms pulled Fingon down with great gentleness but also a relentless traction, to embrace his husband. To twine their bodies as closely as possible as the kiss unfolded. One hand resumed its light kneading and caressing of the back of Fingon’s neck, while Glorfindel wondered what he had ever done to deserve the love of one so noble.

To be enfolded in Glorfindel’s arms was absolute bliss, and Fingon used his flexibility to snuggle and cuddle with one hand still holding the vial and the other angled in such a way as to keep from getting blood on the sheets.  As he nuzzled his cheek against Glorfindel’s, he whispered to him, “I know you directed me to do as I wish, and I am humbled by that, but I want to be sure that I am bringing you pleasure, not pain.” Fingon kissed below Glorfindel’s ear, then the delicate tip, and then brushed his lips against the curve as he ask, “Fin, will you permit me to make love to you?  Do you desire this blessed joining as I do?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel answered, his voice becoming more husky. “I--yes,” he repeated, not wishing to express all the other things that were flooding into his mind. He worried he already had expressed too many things that could be construed as negatives. “I want you. If you are slow and careful I do not believe you can hurt me. We will explore this together, and I relish the thought.”

“I would never knowingly hurt you.  I still feel terrible about… no, no, later, we can talk about that,” Fingon mumbled, and he knew that the brief and uncensored phrase ‘line of succession’ passing through his thoughts was enough to cut off without further explanation.  He kissed along Glorfindel’s jaw. “Tell me everything, Fin. I want to know what you like, and what I should change. When to stop, and when to keep going.” Fingon kissed Glorfindel’s lips again, and then eased up so that he could straddle Glorfindel, centering himself over his knees.  It was obvious he intended more before reaching the request he made, and he dribbled additional oil on his fingers. He did not move back to his previous target, though, for his hand very timidly wrapped around Glorfindel’s erection. Continuing to focus on Glorfindel’s expressions, Fingon began with casual strokes that became firmer over time.

“I know you would not harm me,” Glorfindel breathed almost dreamily, anticipating the pleasure to come and grunting with delight that he had just been taken in hand. “It will be alright, love. It will be good. I will do better than tell you; I will share it with you.” Reaching a hand down, Glorfindel idly caressed along Fingon’s manhood, which reflected the moods and yearnings of its owner so eloquently. Moving along, he brushed along the soft sacs as well, knowing this was something his lover enjoyed. “I love you.”

“Share...oh!  Oh…” Fingon gasped and swallowed hard.  “Oh, Fin…” Another groaned rumbled from his throat as he closed his eyes, fingers of the hand not holding Glorfindel gripping the vial tightly.  “I love you so much, and not just… just be… because…” A few grunts issued forth and Fingon had to remind himself to breathe. “You are so good at that,” Fingon mumbled.  He took another deep breath to steady himself before he tipped the oil again, mindful that he would need to leave some for later. Now he alternated between rubbing Glorfindel’s firm length and delving within.  “Let me see… can I…?” Fingon turned his hand and inserted two fingers, while using the pad of his thumb to rub against the base of Glorfindel’s erection. “Yet another use for large hands,” he mused.

Glorfindel’s back involuntarily arched. The massage of his prostate through his vaginal wall created a spike of bliss that shot through him. A muffled whimper of enjoyment escaped his lips. “So good,” he tried to encourage. No one was going to ever accuse him of verbal eloquence during sex, he mused, but not everyone could be Erestor or Fingon. “So nice.” His eyes closed, as he tried to make himself relax in the face of the very arousing stimulation.

“So I see,” said Fingon, and he explored further, trying different techniques.  Slower, faster, fingers up, fingers down, and eventually pushing his fingers in as far as he could.  “I wish I had a way to better prepare you,” he said apologetically.

The soft and peaceful eyes looked up at Fingon with calm assurance. “It is not like the other place,” he said slowly. “It may sting at first, but only in the beginning. If I may suggest based on what experience I do have, take me quickly and then just hold still. Kiss me, hold me, it will pass because I know I can adjust if I am just allowed some time. You will feel it along with me. My body can grow used to yours if it is not…” Glorfindel sighed. “It will be fine. I want this, and so do you.” Adjusting and nudging Fingon to lift up one of his legs allowed Glorfindel to spread his own open wide, leaving ample room for his lover. Both his expression and the gesture of trust and welcome were his confirmation of the invitation.

Fingon nodded to all that Glorfindel said, though he looked down shyly as the last few words were spoken.  “Still, do not be afraid to tell me to stop if you need to.” Fingon poured what remained of the oil into his palm.  He slicked his erection with the oil, tinted from the blood, and moved so that he was able to align himself to Glorfindel’s body.  One hand he kept flat on the towel, pressed into the mattress for balance. The other he used to direct the angle of his erect member.  Though it had been ages since he had been in such a position, all of the little nuances came back to him unbidden, from the way he used his muscles to slide in before shifting his body forward, and how, once he was rooted, his used his hand to steady Glorfindel’s hip.  Fingon was vaguely aware that his mouth was open and his jaw was slack, that his eyes were slightly crossed, and that his tongue was doing something weird that he could not even describe, but since it was Glorfindel with no intention to paint him at that precise moment, Fingon cared little about his facial oddities and more on whether what he was doing was bringing pleasure to Glorfindel.  Once he was fully inserted, he remained still, save for the kisses he offered, and to toss the vial aside so that he could loop an arm behind Glorfindel’s shoulder to hold him closer.

No one felt more surprised than Glorfindel, for the expected pain never manifested. He blinked in wonder, using the time to reflect that this could not have been more different than what it had been with--the other. Fingon’s words were called to mind; maybe they contained more truth than merely being romantic sentiment. Was this what it felt like, to be with the one meant for him?  _ This is perfect, love. You, are perfect. This seems so right. Make love to me, Káno. _

_ As you wish.  _ The first roll of Fingon’s hips was tentative, and he did not enter back in quite as far as he had been.  He watched for any signs of discomfort from Glorfindel, and then moved his hips again. There was still nothing to make him think that what he did was unwanted; in fact, quite the opposite was occurring, and soon Fingon’s body was moving rhythmically, a dance so intimate, so special, that it could only be performed with Glorfindel.  He rose up, only to come crashing down, but the duration was drawn out. There were no thrusts, no pounding, no jerky movements. Fingon’s hands mirrored one another, at times upon Glorfindel’s hips, or caressing his shoulders, or tracing opposite patterns on his bare skin, but always upon him. Then came the kisses, sometimes upon the lips, or at Glorfindel’s throat or jaw.  “I love you,” he murmured in the midst of their passion. “You are perfect. Absolutely perfect, honey. He made the most beautiful, loving person for me.” Down his right cheek a few tears escaped, but Fingon continued to make love to Glorfindel, and to kiss him despite the dampness on his face.

The smile on Glorfindel’s face manifested from deep inside, for it reflected an equally profound happiness and contentment. This occasion felt like a second bonding, in some ways. His husband possessed all of his body, and it was a wondrous and intimate moment. “Much was asked of you, love. And much is given.” After the words were spoken, Glorfindel blinked, confused. Where had that even come from? It...he shook his head lightly, not really understanding but not needing to either. What he really wanted to say, he now did. “Such praise will make me conceited,” he teased, booping Fingon on the nose. “But I am glad that you find me thus. My king should have what he wishes.” His hand smoothed back the braids, and then an idea occurred to him. He clenched down with the muscles in his nether regions, curious to see if Fingon would respond in any way.

Glorfindel’s curiosity was soon sated, for Fingon gasped and inadvertently slid in to the root.  He closed his eyes and had to center himself before he could resume his movements. There was slightly more intensity now, but he continued to mind his movements, and to proceed with the slow caution he had exhibited throughout.

A glimmer of mischief appeared in the form of two very prominent dimples, once Glorfindel saw the results of his effort. Licking his lips and concentrating, he tried to squeeze in rhythm with Fingon’s lovemaking, chuckling when he witnessed the further effect he was having. Though, it really was not easy for him; this was a part of his anatomy he unsurprisingly had never tried to engage before.

“Ughhnn… ahhh… Fin!”  Fingon clenched his teeth and grunted again as he felt the pull from Glorfindel.  “You keep… that up… not going… to last… trying… to keep… in check…” And indeed, Fingon was still struggling to keep the slow and steady pace, but his neck was red, and sweat glistened on his forehead.

“I am feeling suddenly powerful,” Glorfindel grinned. “I will stop. You are trying so hard to be courteous to me. And you are. But sweetheart, you do not have to worry about lasting or not lasting. I want you to know that you never have to think of our lovemaking as a performance. Quick or drawn-out, it is you I cherish. Your body. Your spirit. And when I think that always I will be blessed to have this...it is quite overwhelming, really.”

“Then… do not stop,” begged Fingon, his voice raspier than it had been.  “It feels so good. You, us, this… so good, Fin. Please. Never been like this.  I want this. I want you. I need you.” While still gentle and mindful, Fingon’s movements became less predictable and calculated and more freeform and sensual.  He stretched so that he could lean down and kiss Glorfindel not with ghosting lips, but in a sloppy, feverish manner.

Eagerly, Glorfindel resumed his pleasuring, wrapping his arms around his lover’s shoulders. This extremely close skin contact while facing each other, something not possible with the ordinary manner of intimacy between two males, was brand new for him. Faelion had ever held his body up and away during this kind of sex. Closing his eyes, Glorfindel felt surpassingly glad--it meant that initiation to this sacred proximity was for he and Fingon alone; no other had ever given this to him. The intense emotion fed his building passion even further, especially since each movement from Fingon not only caressed inside of his body but did the same for Glorfindel’s erection. His proud arousal now lay trapped between them, delightfully rubbed and teased by dewy skin and firm muscle.

With Glorfindel’s coaxing, Fingon melted against him.  It was no longer that he was moving, it was that they were moving, complementing one another.  Fingon had worried that the difference in height would somehow make it awkward, but it was exactly as graceful and thrilling as he wanted it to be.  An intense pressure accompanied by a thick heat within him pulled feral noises from him that defied definition. Kisses were interrupted by his animalistic desire, and he began to exchange some of them for nips at Glorfindel’s ears, or biting and sucking on his shoulders, neck, and throat.  “So good… keep going… almost there,” he murmured against Glorfindel’s skin.

Gladly Glorfindel obliged, sensing that all he would have to do to send himself over the edge would be to relax for a few strokes. Wordlessly he communicated that to Fingon; his pleasure would come in the outpouring of his husband’s climax. Words he might speak aloud no longer seemed fitting, though he welcomed the sounds of his lover. Anticipation spread through his thought. What would it feel like to be filled by Fingon? A slight smirk twisted one side of his mouth. Fingon was infinitely more virile than Faelion, who never had much to spend inside of him. In fact, he had wondered at times if his failure to conceive was because Faelion could not produce enough seed. By contrast, Erestor had always left him with ample evidence of his visitations and Fingon doubly so. This notion alone sent a nearly bottomless smugness coursing through him, though he quickly banished it. No part of that asshole deserved even a tiny fraction of this moment, so he drove the memory aside in an outpouring of love and desire for his mate.

In Fingon’s case, his thoughts were far more basic.  He concerned himself with his pace and depth, and gauged how well he was pleasing Glorfindel by embracing the feelings that rushed over him from Glorfindel.  The delicious tension continued to build, but Fingon knew he was so very close to his release. While he could make love without issuing ejaculate, he really felt sure about doing so now.  “Fin… love you… love you,” he conveyed as he lost what little control he had left and knew he was a moment from the physical outpouring of his love and desire. Fingon rocked his body as he held Glorfindel, clung to him, and let out a grunt with each spasm.

Glorfindel’s lips parted as the subtle movements and sensation of added heat triggered his own climax. Some mental impression formed that his bliss was being drawn from him, creating a different kind of pleasure. His parts that surrounded Fingon were tensing with a height of arousal that was something new. His male parts ejaculated forcefully, but he also felt his womb pulsing. Not like a cramp, but in an entirely positive manner. Every part of his nether anatomy sang with enjoyment, added to by the sensation of silken warmth from Fingon. Already their connection felt slick, as if he had just been doused in oil or some other kind of lubricant. A very feminine perception, one he had usually shunned, swept over him. He clung to Fingon, wishing to pull him in further--wishing this would not end. This had felt so right it was almost somewhat frightening. Already he knew that he would want this again. And again. It had been ecstasy. “I am yours,” is all he could think to whisper, because it was so completely true.

“That was so good,” moaned Fingon, arms wrapped around Glorfindel, no intention of letting go until he absolutely had to.  “Thank you. Thank you for trusting me; thank you for this moment.” Fingon rubbed his cheek against Glorfindel’s shoulder, only slightly lamenting his decision to leave his facial hair to grow.  He took a moment to catch his breath, then said softly, “While I suspect this was one of the last things either of us expected to have happen today, I know it is most definitely one of the best experiences I have had.”  Fingon lazily kissed along Glorfindel’s neck as his breathing returned to normal.

“If you did that every time I would welcome it,” Glorfindel admitted. “Though the other feels good too. But...I have never been able to feel as close to a lover. And now I find I have questions, and wonder about so many things because this was all different. So different. This...blessed Eru, Káno. I am...I hardly know how to explain. And…” he shook his head. “I think even without Gildor’s medicine that might have made me feel better. Everything down below feels...soothed. There is still a soreness, but it is so much duller and relaxed.  I do not understand. But I want to believe it is the blessing of your body, and our love,” he added bashfully.

Fingon rubbed his nose against Glorfindel’s and said, “I would wager it is a combination of the emotional high of being so close and so in love, and… how much do you know about what is happening with your body?  I mean, the bleeding--I know you have healing knowledge, but I do not know how much information you have about your body. I like to think that someone explained it to you, but I suspect otherwise.” He began to trace nonsense patterns over Glorfindel’s left shoulder with the tip of his finger as he spoke.

“I cannot answer that because…” Glorfindel averted his gaze. “Faelion told me things and sounded like an authority. Of course he did, the pompous ass. But Gildor told me earlier that he was full of shit, at least concerning some of it. So...now I do not know what is true and what is not. I feel like an ignorant child. I do know one thing, though. He never had to hurt me like he did. He told me it could not be helped. He would fuck me so hard I bled, Káno. Almost every time. Sometimes I would wake with bruises or be unable to stand without aid.  It was agony, and he did it nearly every night. I just--.” He pursed his lips closed, refusing to say more, cuddling closer to Fingon for a sense of safety. “I hate him.”

“He is never coming near you again,” vowed Fingon firmly.  “Never. I will not let him hurt you ever again.” Fingon tightened his hold on Glorfindel and kissed his forehead, cheek, and lips.  “I can explain some things to you later if you would like to know. Having a sister gave me a means to learning so many things. I am glad that the effect of our lovemaking was twofold positive.”  Continuing to nuzzle his husband, Fingon offered, “Whenever you would like, I would gladly clean you up here or carry you to the pool. There is no rush; I admit that this is very nice, too.”

“We are a mess. A messy mess. I think I would like the pool and maybe we could nap in the hammock? I want to stay close to you.” Glorfindel traced a finger down Fingon’s breastbone, kissing his own fingertip then tapping it to random locations on his lover’s body.

“Then it is fortunate for us both that I wish to be close to you as well.”  Fingon placed his hands on the towels and eased up slowly. While the intimate contact was broken, he climbed off of the bed and lifted Glorfindel into his arms soon enough.  To the hot spring they went, and only briefly did Fingon leave to retrieve towels, blankets, and clean loincloths in plentiful supply. More than an hour was spent in the warm water, hands playfully caressing each other’s body as they basked in the afterglow of their coupling.  They followed this with a cuddle in the hammock, and finally they fell asleep, with Fingon on his back and Glorfindel curled up against Fingon, head resting on Fingon’s shoulder. 

###  Mid afternoon, Day 15

Having felt that the library was adequately managed for the day (and with no small encouragement from the staff), Erestor left early to walk home. Except, he did not go home. Throughout the day intrusive thoughts of much that had transpired the previous day plagued him. He found himself withdrawing into the perceived sanctuary of the black headcovering he had donned this morning after he had left the house.  He needed this today. Needed something about which he could feel sanctified. Approved. No longer did it matter what anyone else thought, because far too much about yesterday had served to reopen a wound of another kind. His feet turned toward the Sedryner temple. Guilt and sense of inadequacy waged war with a yearning for some kind of reconciliation. He lingered in the stone doorway for longer than he meant to, his eyes drawn to the tribute paid to the long-lost Trees of Valinor. Surely, there would be no harm in making his way to the far edge, where he could kneel and perhaps unburden some of his heart in prayer? Clutching the head covering closer around him, he slowly found the courage to take halting steps toward his goal, relieved that only a few other elves seemed to be occupying the very large space.

“May I aid you, child of Eru?” a voice came from behind.

Erestor’s fragile courage failed him, as unwanted tears began to stream from his face. “I should not be here,” he said very softly. “I am cast out. I did not mean to offend…” His face contorted with unexpected pain as he covered his hand with his mouth to silence himself.

The cleric frowned, immediately placing his hand on Erestor’s back to comfort him. “Come; sit with me.” He guided Erestor to the beautifully carved benches. “You cannot be cast out, for all are our Father’s children,” he gently corrected.

The dark head shook vehemently and Erestor spoke in a broken voice. “You do not understand. How could you? You are still sanctified. Approved. I was like you, once. I ministered to others and did my utmost to help. But I was censured for what they said was a sin. A sin from which I cannot repent, for it concerns the vows I have witnessed and taken with regard to marriage. The elders of the faith excommunicated me and told me never to return. Afterward, in my despair, I fell into darkness. Later on, by Eru’s grace my life was saved. I have had to confront that my faith lies in ruins, and I am adrift.”

The ellon’s eyes widened in deep shock. Indeed, this was an exceptional circumstance, not something the cleric had often heard and yet… “Child, tell me of your marriage vows?”

Swallowing hard, Erestor tried to control his breathing. “I have bound myself to two other ellyn. Both of them mean more to me than my own life. My husbands. I was cast out because once I officiated over the marriage rite between three who wished to make a similar pledge. I was declared morally unfit.”

“Yet something drew you here. You must know that here we do not view things in the same light as those on the mainland. If Eru has blessed your love and accepted your vows, what right do we have to issue a condemnation? You were cruelly treated and you have suffered, but here there is welcome and healing. Tell me, what brought you to us?” the cleric coaxed.

“I am so confused,” Erestor confessed. “I miss the closeness I once felt to Eru. I was asked to baptize another yesterday, but look at me! I fear I have sinned. Affronted our Father. And my husbands...one mate asked me to cause him physical pain during the act of love. I complied and--I enjoyed it. My father’s… associates tormented me in his Iron Fortress before the Valar subdued him, and I felt eager to deal out pain as I once was forced to receive it.”

“Your father?” the cleric asked, confused.

In shame, Erestor hung his head. “I am not only an elf,” he trembled. “I am peredhel, and the unhappy child of the Great Enemy. I have never openly confessed this before in public--now you know what a wretched abomination pollutes your temple.” Bowed over in grief, he wept in remorse. This had lain so long buried. Always known, never discussed.

“No, child. You are wrong,” the cleric said firmly. “I can see the light within you--that is not something over which you have any conscious control. If those are the things you have come to believe about yourself, they are falsehoods. “You have covered yourself--a sign of modesty and reverence. You speak of the true love you offer your mates despite having to suffer at the hands of those unaccepting. You come here, seeking our Father. None of those are anything that could pollute this sanctified place. You have been hurt, grievously. And it is right that you seek our Father for the healing of your spirit.”

He carefully took Erestor’s hand, slipping a clean kerchief into the other one so that Erestor might dry his tears. “Pray with me, child.”

Erestor sniffled and nodded, bowing his head.

“Father Eru, look down in mercy now upon this Your son, one who has endured terrible wounds to his spirit. For each one of us You have a purpose, to each one of us You have given gifts. Grant peace to this heart in turmoil, grant him hope and the knowledge that faith is not something the provenance of us here below. His faith and the love he bears for You requires no sanction, no edifice of stone--only the innocent yearning of a child for his loving Father. I ask Your continued blessing upon this ellon, and for You to send him comfort. Namar.”

“Namar,” Erestor whispered, unwittingly still clinging tightly to the cleric’s hand. “Bless you for your compassion.” Finally releasing the ellon’s hand, he wiped away more tears.

“There is a place here you can pray in seclusion,” he suggested. “Do you think you can come with me?”

“Yes,” came the choked out whisper from Erestor.

Filled with pity, the cleric wrapped Erestor’s hand around his proffered arm, guiding him slowly through to the small room in which Fingon had once prayed. He adjusted the same platform, and indicated the cushion on which to kneel, even assisting Erestor to do so, for he was oddly weakened in his distress. He kissed Erestor’s brow. “Galu, child. If you call out to me I will hear you, should you require assistance.” 

Erestor tried to give his thanks to the cleric, but was uncertain if anything audible had actually been spoken. His head felt so terribly heavy, but he raised his eyes to the gems on the wall above, albeit with some effort. “Please,” Erestor whispered, fresh tears pooling in his eyes. “Please I do not mean to be a bother but I do not trust myself to know right from wrong any longer. I am filled with fear that I have sinned against You and the weight of it is more than I can bear. The baptism...my treatment of my husband even though he begged me for that...my long despair and addictions...please, I want...I want to be someone of whom You approve and I have failed so many times. I humbly beg You to guide my steps and strengthen me to believe I am not without hope.”

“We have been so unfair to you.”

Erestor turned to confirm that the familiar voice he heard belonged to the Vala he expected.  “Lord Irmo.” He wiped at his eyes with the loose end of his scarf. “I apologize for my appearance.”

“Why?  If Our Father did not mean for you to cry, would he have given you the ability to shed tears?  No, I think not,” Irmo answered himself. “And we, who have given all others consent to decide, have withheld from you that choice. How neglectful we have been.”

“Choice?  What choice?” asked Erestor as he felt a tingle on his skin.

Irmo lifted one arm, palm held out.  “Elda.” He lifted the other, palm facing the ceiling.  “Ainu.” His expression was sympathetic. “So many other choices have been taken from you by not granting you the ability to choose your path.  From Eärendil to Elodien, they have all been given a choice.”

“But some of them were of Men, and… are you saying that others might have chosen Ainu?”

“Those with the right to it might have,” answered Irmo.  “None did.”

Erestor looked back to the display at the corner.  “How would such a choice help me with my problems? How can that solve anything?”

“Awful burdens were placed upon you.  Time and time over, you were treated by us as if you were a full Ainu, a child of a Vala, fallen though he may be, he was--and is--powerful.  We, the Valar, share that power with our children, just as He shared His power with us. And yet, you are also one of His children, one of his blessed Eldar.  How could you be expected to journey through your life with each foot on a different, diverging path?” Irmo set his hands upon Erestor’s shoulders as Erestor folded his hands again and bowed his head.  “We grant to you this choice, Erestor. You never should have been torn between these two worlds.” Irmo kissed the top of Erestor’s head.

“Must I decide now?” asked Erestor.  “This is much to take in. I do not think I fully understand it all, either.”

“No, child, no.  Not now. You need time to consider your future path.”  Irmo gave Erestor’s shoulders another squeeze and stepped away.  

Once again, Erestor bowed his head.  “I must still be such a disappointment,” he said shamefully.

“Do you really think if you had disappointed your Father, He would have bestowed the blessings He has upon you?  Some people never discover even one true love in their life. He has seen fit to converge paths so that you, should you choose it, shall never be separated from any of them.”

“Any...any of them?!”  Erestor turned abruptly, but Irmo was gone.


	16. Day 16

Day 16 Afternoon

“Did I tell you what I saw the other day when I went riding?”  Gildor was plucking cucumber after cucumber and Maedhros tended to the beans.  Maedhros shook his head. “I saw someone with a pair of identical beagles. Adorable!  They were wagging their tails in time with each other. I was thinking, if we decide to move out here, maybe you could get a dog for yourself.  Maybe not a beagle, but something sturdy and low maintenance. Just a little companion for you.”

“I like big dogs,” Maedhros smiled. “Not that I would have admitted it, but I always felt jealous that Oromë gave Huan to Celegorm. It seemed...well, I wanted an immortal dog, because who would not? It would not have to be something quite so large, but...a little bigger than DogDog. That name is utterly ridiculous; I hope you know that. Then again maybe that was the point of the thing?” He tossed his copper hair back over his shoulder to remove it from the beans, oblivious to his stunning beauty.

“Either they will learn to name their furry family members, or DogDog will become a household word!”  Gildor crawled further into the fray, gently tossing cucumbers over his back and into the wheelbarrow.  “A big dog, then, and we can call him DogDogDOGDogDog.”

Maedhros broke down into laughter at this, almost pitching forward into the vines. Grey eyes full of adoration regarded Gildor. “I love you for so many reasons,” he told him. “But that you can always make me laugh is one of the greatest. What a gift you are to me, Gildor.” Smiling, he blew a kiss. “But seriously, we are not calling it that. I am going to have a proper name, none of whatever is the matter with Fingon and that poor canine.”

“Do you want my psychological evaluation of your cousin’s inability to name his dog?” asked Gildor after he ‘caught’ the kiss and pantomimed tucking it into his pocket for safekeeping.

“Actually, I rather do. Before we get to the squash, for I have no desire to fall laughing into those plants. I would have a rash for a week.”

“Oh, but I would kiss it better, and give you cool, soothing baths, and rub your body all over with healing salves and bring you food and hand feed you so that you would not need to move and irritate the rash,” said Gildor, “so if you do, fear not, you will be well cared-for.”

“How is it you make something that should be avoidable sound so appealing?” Maedhros asked helplessly. “Already you do so much for me. You spoil me. I…” he sighed. “I need to finish picking these beans.”

“Those beans?” asked Gildor as he joined Maedhros.  He slid a hand under the bounty of one of the plants and continued with, “Those long, firm beans right there?”

“We are going to end up fucking right here,” Maedhros said, resigning himself to both Gildor’s seduction and the swelling in his trousers. “Is there really any place you would not want to have an intimate encounter with me?” It really was not a question. “How do you want me, baby?”

“Why, Lord Nelyafinwë, what forward discourse!” Gildor let the beans droop back down as he turned his head slightly and pointed at some beans that were lower.  “I was just discussing how fruitful these plants were,” he said with such fake innocence as he adjusted his step to spread his legs apart, and then slowly bent at the waist to retrieve the beans that were lower to the ground.  “Why, I am just ever so interested in the horticultural… wait, is this horticulture or agriculture?” Gildor asked as he paused in the slight teasing sway of his ass back and forth as he spoke.

“I think we are on agriculture,” Maedhros said, caressing Gildor’s curves. “Of course, I will be on you, just as soon as you remove those breeches.” Already he was sitting back to untie the laces on his pants and tugged them loose from his waist.

“I wish we knew where they stashed that trampoline, but this shall do,” Gildor stood back up only to drop drawers and bend over again a moment later.  A moment after that he was standing up again. “This is all nice plants, right? Are we risking prickers or itches or anything else of that sort?”

“I do not recommend rolling in them. For that matter, we might want to use our clothing for both of us to kneel on, because probably we are too old to risk embedding wood chips in our knees. But no, nothing will jump out at us.” Standing, he turned Gildor toward him and kissed him hungrily, pulling their groins together with his powerful arms. “You are beautiful, Inglorion. Everything about you. Which is why I cannot wait to fuck you senseless.”

“If you truly wish to speak of beauty, it is you who are the glorious one.  Mmm… maybe…” Gildor whipped his head around and scanned the immediate area, then a little further away.  “Hammock.” He grabbed hold of the top of his breeches and began to waddle in the direction of the gently swaying hammock, inadvertently wiggling his rear for Maedhros as he took tiny steps to keep from tripping on his own clothing.

“What a temptation you are,” Maedhros exulted, following quickly, unable to remove his eyes from the sight of the magnificent ass he knew so well. “Hammock? Well. I know just what to do. Hopefully there is a blanket, or you will be wearing a fishnet in your skin for the rest of today.”

“It shall be a badge of honor I shall wear proudly!”  Gildor reached the hammock first, not due to speed, but due to Maedhros much preferring to walk behind.  There were a few pillows, but no blanket. Gildor threw himself over the hammock onto one of the pillows, and kicked his legs behind him in an attempt to remove his clothing.  One arm was caught in the hammock, dangling unhelpfully, while the other was being used to steady things as best as Gildor could, for the hammock threatened now to flip over, and Gildor snorted and laughed.  “Terrible plan! Abort! Abandon--no, wait, do not abandon ship, I will end up on my ass on the ground.”

“You are not going anywhere,” Maedhros said silkily, catching the unstable netting in his hand and somehow maneuvering Gildor onto his back, where he straddled him temptingly and made a few experimental thrusts in the general direction of Gildor’s head. “Yes. Yes, I think this will do nicely. I know just where your ass is going to end up.”

Now that he was more stable, Gildor ran a finger along one of the interwoven ropes.  He slid a hand through the hole and back up another, and groaned at the almost instant bondage he had discovered.  “Oh, we need one of these, Mae Mae.” In the distance, a little thunder alerted them of an oncoming storm, but Gildor threaded his other hand, spreading himself out before his lover.  “Ready to be boarded,” he drawled. “The marine vessel ‘Fuck Me Senseless’ is ready for… wait, no, I would be the port… oh, just fuck me, darling,” insisted Gildor.

Maedhros chuckled, reaching for the vial of oil that they now had the wit to keep on one or the other of them at all times. Popping the cork, he anointed himself and poured the remainder into Gildor’s cleft, twirling his fingers here and there. A little admiration was in order for the entrance that so eagerly sought his touch. His mate was in for it this time, but not the ‘it’ he expected. Slowly, luxuriously, he slid inside of Gildor to the root, straddling the hammock. Small pillows to prevent chafing on the insides of his thighs were placed in useful positions, and then he experimentally planted his feet on the ground, toes grabbing into the soft grass. The rest of him he settled over the body stretched out in invitation, and stole another kiss. “Yes,” he exulted. “Yes, I think this is going to work out just as I wish.” With luxurious slowness, his tongue delved Gildor’s mouth deeply while he slid in and out of the tight channel at a pace far slower than usual. “You feel wonderful, Inglorion. I think I shall keep you.”

“Oh!  Yes, yes, yes… yes, I am yours and you know it… oh, why are you going so slowly,” Gildor whined as the first droplets of rain hit his face.  “Oh, but this is nice… mmm, such slow torture… Oh, ye--mmmphh…” Gildor’s commentary was cut off as Maedhros filled his mouth with his tongue once again, and Gildor closed his eyes and arched his back.

The storm came closer, the winds rustling the leaves of the nearby garden plants. The glorious and intoxicating scent of petrichor filled both their lungs. The swirling breezes lifted Maedhros’ hair from time to time into a stream of copper that flowed off of his shoulders, causing Gildor to look on in besotted wonder at the god who possessed his body. Maedhros refused to speed up, relishing the steady pace that just barely offered enough to build their passion. His eyes locked with Gildor’s and a far greater sense of intimacy encircled the two of them. Lips explored every corner of the pale face and throat, returning to Gildor’s mouth only when it was necessary to silence his narrative.

In what little time Gildor had, his words worshipped Maedhros.  “I have such insatiable desire for you every waking moment of every day--and even sometimes in my dreams.  Oh, to feel you so close is an ecstasy that was worth the ages I waited. To simply gaze upon you is a delight to my eyes, and a thrill trembles through me at your every touch to know that I--oh, yes, Maedhros--I am yours.”  The rain arrived, the sudden insistent shower that blanketed them and cooled their bodies, but not their passion, and Gildor closed his eyes again and yet welcomed it, and worked his hands free so that he could slide his hands over smooth, damp skin, and run his fingers through the wet tresses made a darker red from the rain.

“You are the shining star of my life,” Maedhros told him in a rare moment of vulnerability. “My reason for carrying on, my one true love. When I move inside of your body, I am home. My spirit finds peace. Something is happening to me, Gildor. This is not like the other times. I am going to burst soon, for the want of you--I cannot help it. Let me try to touch you so that I do not leave you unsatisfied.” Leaning up on one elbow, he grasped at Gildor’s length, grateful for the copious lubrication his partner’s arousal had provided. Slicking it down the shaft, he found himself wondering in a fleeting moment what it might feel like were Gildor to take him instead. But...could he? Not having the answer to that question, he stroked Gildor as quickly as he could manage given the awkward position and his own rising lust.

Gildor used his hands to try to pull Maedhros closer by any means possible.  A grab of his ass, a tug on his tunic, anything he could think to do. HIs legs sought to bring them impossibly closer as well as they wrapped around whatever they could.  Another arch of his back caused a moan to erupt from within, and soon Gildor was bucking frantically as he felt the touch of Maedhros’ hand, and felt his satisfaction near.  “Want you… yes… so much… yes!” Gasping now, Gildor spilled over Maedhros’ fingers and tightened his hold on his lover, knowing it would not be much longer before Maedhros tumbled over the edge with him.

“Ohhhhh!” A deep groan tore out of Maedhros as he abandoned his hold on Gildor’s length in order to grip Gildor’s entire body with his two arms. Pumping furiously in the last seconds, he shouted his release to the wind, emptying himself deep inside his love’s body. Spent, he collapsed while the rain and wind cooled them both, spattering on their sweat-dampened skin. “I love you. I love you. Please do not ever leave me, Gildor. I would not survive. You are everything I ever dreamed, someone who loves this ugly and broken body as it is. I do not know what I ever did to deserve you.” Unaccustomed words poured out of the redhead, who felt like some giant confession was issuing forth. He so often hid how he really felt about himself. Why did a storm and a fuck in the vegetable garden loosen his tongue like this? He wiped away a tear. That was the thing...words or not, Gildor would still love him, and it felt beyond comprehension.

“Ugly?”  Hearing this word from Maedhros about himself was heartbreaking, and Gildor scrambled to get them both onto the hammock so that he could properly embrace Maedhros.  The rain beat down, rustling leaves and grass, and pattering over the surface of the hot spring, where steam rose up. “To call yourself ugly is like to say a sunset is dull or a rose in full bloom is boring.  My word, you are the most beautiful person I have ever known in my entire life, and…” Gildor squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the same sort of emotional rawness. “...and I still wonder that someone so amazing would find love in his heart for an old trollopy whore like me.”  Gildor ran the back of his hand over his eyes, but it was almost pointless with the rain falling upon them.

“I guess we struggle to see ourselves like we see each other,” Maedhros answered slowly. “I try not to talk like that. It slipped, for some reason. But I think it. All the time. I do not know how to move past that. This missing hand and...maybe if I am going to be honest, when Fingon and I did not work out it was a serious blow to my self-image. I thought he believed I was ugly. That he hated my body. I mean, I hated my body too, so was that really so far-fetched?” He shrugged. “I never thought of you as a whore. Ever. To me you are the only person who could ever even hope to match or tolerate my crazy desires and my games and no matter how I want to deal it out, you delight in taking it. I worry I am selfish and inconsiderate because...because…” he swallowed hard and choked on the words, trying to blink back tears that were not wanted. What the fuck was the matter with him today?  

Gildor reached out to cradle the elbow of Maedhros’ marred arm, and bent his head to nuzzle the stump, which he kissed several times.  “I wish I could… I wish I could make this better for you. I would literally give my own right hand to make you physically whole again.”  Again, he kissed the scarred skin, and held Maedhros’ arm close to him. “Your perception of yourself is unfounded. I can think of no one more handsome than you, my love.  As for me… I… I lost track of how many beds I warmed in the First Age… Second Age…” Gildor hesitated. “Third Age, despite my relationship with Glorfindel which lasted nearly that entire span.  Three thousand years, and I was still hopping from room to room or tent to tent, and I hardly recall the names of the people who I--” Gildor sighed. “Listen to us. We are our own worst enemies now.”  He kissed Maedhros wrist again and said, “You are beautiful, and I am faithful to you. We need to move forward believing that, because that is the truth.”

A little smile crept over Maedhros’ face. “I know you are. I feel it in my heart, more than anything else. Now we should probably faithfully keep picking the vegetables.” He rose, but something halted his steps. He reached out with his hand and brushed his fingertips over his lover’s face.  “Gildor...do you ever want me? Do you resent that I have never offered myself to you as you do so willingly to me? It has begun to weigh on my mind that I never gave you a choice. I demanded this. I need to know how you really feel. Please?”

“What--oh.  Sex. Pff. Of course we are talking about sex.”  Gildor let out a stream of air and considered the question.  “An honest answer of how I really feel. I like having a dick up my ass.”  Gildor nodded to himself as confirmation. “I also like it when you suck me off.  And, I like sucking you off. So… hmm.” Gildor tapped his fingers over his lips as he thought it over.  “Sometimes I used to slide up and down Glorfindel’s back, kind of along the cleft, and that was alright, but… I mean, is this something you want?” asked Gildor as he attempted to hide a very uncertain look.

“It is more like...I love you so much that if you wanted it I would find a way to want it because there is nothing I would not do for you, including get over myself in that regard. Maybe I am also a tiny bit curious, now that we live here and I can hear all too well through these walls that for our friends, it goes both ways for all of them. I honestly am struggling to answer the question for myself. I...is that even an answer?”

“I suppose if you really want to, we could try?”  Gildor’s face said otherwise. “I think I can figure it out.  I just… um… mostly I want you, inside of me, and… if you really want it, I can try… I guess.”  Gildor studied a puddle, for the rain was dying down now, and grimaced at the imagery he was creating in his mind.  “You definitely would have to be the one who wanted to try it,” he finally said. “It is really doing nothing for me, darling.  And--before your mind goes there--it has nothing to do with appearance. You are fucking gorgeous, and I love being with you, but I really want your cock up my ass or in my mouth, though it is a treat when you suck on--I wonder if I am just lazy,” pondered Gildor.  “I mean, if that is it, then there are some positions where…” His mind and gaze wandered, but he slowly shook his head. “No. Definitely has to be something you want to try.”

Maedhros scratched his head, not having expected this vehement of an answer. “Uhm...no, I would not feel right asking you to do something you do not wish to. Even though this discussion is engendering even more curiosity. I have never had anything up my ass, Gildor. What am I missing? Am I missing anything? I mean, do I really know, if I never tried? Maybe, uh, maybe a phallus or...why am I even talking about this when there are squash to pick?” He shook his head. “Thank you for your answer. In a way...we just were somehow this perfect match,” he said, the corners of his mouth curling in a smile.

Gildor made sure to keep an arm around Maedhros so that he could not yet leave.  “Maybe I am phrasing it incorrectly. It is not so much that it would disgust me, it is that it is doing nothing to turn me on, so I would not seek it out.  You are talking about it and asking these things because now you are curious. So, tell me, dearest, what was it that put into your head in the first place that you had to be the one doing the fucking?  Or is this more of a need for dominance, and you perceive that to mean you have to be ‘on top’? It could just be you have a certain preference, such as I do--but your questions are making me think otherwise.”

Maedhros looked down at his own feet, frowning at toenails that had become rather dirty. “I...damn. This is really hard. So a very long time ago, my brothers shoveled a lot of shit toward me about issues of masculinity. Father too, if I am being brutally honest. Somewhere in there I got it in my head that being gay was not quite so bad or unacceptable as long as I was masculine about it. In control. Taking the male role and treating my partner like the female in the sense of, the recipient of my penis as opposed to being open to anything else. And then it...maybe it was a little like what happened to Erestor. I got this bullshit so stuck in my head that anything that came before it was not even to be thought of. Being here, for the first time I have reflected somewhat on my own past and whether or not I, too, was manipulated up here.” He tapped the side of his head. “I am wondering about things I never wondered about. And...that.”

“If that is the case,” Gildor said carefully, “perhaps we could try it some time.  There is also… well, I may be overstepping, or, maybe that is not the correct word…you may wish to experiment first.  From my experiences, a lot of us who like that sort of stimulation experiment with it long before we seek out partners.  Not everyone, of course, but I surely did. We are the proud owners of a lot of toys,” Gildor reminded Maedhros. “There are no binding agreements that restrict them from only going up my ass.”

“Well, it seems easy enough for you, and...I want to understand what you like, Gildor. Maybe it will not be for me but maybe it is also time to stop letting my family’s prejudices influence what I think is suitable for me. I mean, even Fingon...maybe, too, it galls me a little that he has found a way to do something I would not. I still have a problem with feeling competitive, even if he is worse.”

Gildor continued to nuzzle Maedhros as he asked, “What about talking to Fingon about this?  The two of you are more similar than you might think, and perhaps he had similar thoughts and feelings.”

“I could try, though it would be hard.” Suddenly something seemed to occur to him. “Gildor...I am not even sure what I am asking you but...if that conversation came in a time and place when you were not with me and it became more than a conversation, would you give me the same freedoms I give you? I am not saying that I am planning anything. I do not even know exactly why I am talking about this. There is just this sense that he and I left something very unfinished, to the point of disaster, and it has affected everything between us ever since.” The grey eyes that looked up now seemed truly afraid, unsettled.

“Well…”  Gildor took hold of Maedhros hand and held it with his own, and smiled when Maedhros lifted his other arm to stroke Gildor’s cheek.  “I have had some thoughts about that, and about our agreement, and our plans for you to return to the mainland while I stay here. It would actually bring me comfort to know that the two of you were on better terms, and honestly…well, where do you think things are going with the three of them?” Gildor asked.  “I have a feeling much of why you agree that I should stay here is because you know I will not be alone, and will be with those we trust better than most.”

“I can hide little from you, though I do not mean to try,” Maedhros smiled. “I love you enough to want your needs fulfilled...but I also worry. I cannot help it. You are my everything, and...yes, it would ease my mind and heart.”

“We must have a family council,” Gildor partially teased as the pair decided on modesty and put the rest of their clothing back on.  “It will be beneficial to have us all together to discuss how we intend to see this through.” A squirrel raiding the wheelbarrow caught Gildor’s eye, and he said, “I suppose we also have a task at hand to finish.  What is with Erestor and all these cucumbers?”

Maedhros frowned and lurched out of the hammock, running over to the wheelbarrow. The rodent chirped its dismay loudly and fled for a hole it apparently had somewhere in the okra, for it vanished too rapidly to account for any other possibility. Victorious, he gestured for Gildor to help him with the wheelbarrow. Yes, he was capable, but even he knew it was easy to lose control of it when it was this heavy and neither of them needed to have to bruise their harvest and pick it up a second time. Gildor quickly steered it for him to the next row..

“I can answer that, believe it or not,” Maedhros smiled, patting for Gildor to join him on his knees to better peer through the mass of vines. “He told me that in other years he had issues with insects and diseases, and that this year the mulched pathways and narrow planting beds were his latest idea in order to perhaps stave off those problems. Always he needed to plant this many vines just to have barely enough. This year, he succeeded and has had no troubles of that sort. And now we must pick the bounty of his success...he admits there are far too many and yet only smiles. When I asked about pulling some out because they were not needed his face fell. I genuinely thought he might begin weeping. So I never asked that again. While it is silly, a part of me very much understands. Oh dear, I think we missed one from last time.” Lamenting, he withdrew his hand bearing a rather fat and firm specimen. 

“Damn,” Gildor breathed. “Maybe we should forget the toys; I could have my way with these and then toss them to the chickens.”

“You really want something that large?” Maedhros queried, thinking that the vegetable was even larger than his wrist.

“It does not suit everyone, but the bigger the better. It sends thrills of pleasure all through my body. Almost like electricity, but without the pain.” Gildor shivered. “I should not discuss this, before that thing ends up in my ass and then I get no work done. I should behave myself.”

Maedhros raised an eyebrow. “Love, when have you ever actually done that? Behave yourself?”

“Uhm...well, lots of times!”

“Name one.” Maedhros fished out another two cucumbers; these were of far more ordinary size.

“When my father died,” Gildor said solemnly.

“Fair point.”  Maedhros chucked another cucumber into a basket intended for okra, that like the rest of the bins, was now resigned to carrying mostly cucumbers.  “I suppose you probably hate my brothers for that. Blame them, at least.”

“There are so many causes and decisions that could be argued as to how things got to that point.”  Gildor plucked three cucumbers of approximately the same size from the vines and began to juggle them.  “Your brothers--well, the middle three… actually, no, Caranthir is really just an introvert with the mentality of a dragon.”

“A dragon?” questioned Maedhros.

“His hoard.  Toll here, toll there, everywhere a fucking toll.  I used to offer him blow jobs for discounts at his toll roads, and he hated it.  So just Celegorm and Curufin. Mostly Celegorm,” decided Gildor. “Curufin was just Celegorm’s sidekick.”

“You can bond with Fingon over that assessment.  For me, they are all my brothers, and I love them all, no matter what sort of dumbassed decisions they made.”  Maedhros found an even more grotesquely huge cucumber that would undoubtedly be too bitter now, and waved it in front of Gildor.  “What about this one?”

“Oh… hmm.”  Gildor frowned and deposited the cucumbers he had into the wheelbarrow.  “Pass. Even I have my limits.”

“Then this one will be for the chickens,” Maedhros remarked. “As much as I hate to say this, the wheelbarrow really cannot take much more. We need to offload these to the kitchen before we can keep picking.”

“I concur, but I do not want to fail to pick the okra. Fingon said if we brought in enough he would make a gumbo. The last one was so delicious it made me understand how eating only vegetables could actually have merit.” Gildor smiled fondly at the thought of more food.

“Uh-huh,” Maedhros said with far less enthusiasm, eyeing the heaping wheelbarrow. They already had pickles to last the winter and...well, maybe they could make relish? His gaze drifted to Erestor’s forest-like patch of dill weed.  _ Not my problem _ , he told himself.

Gildor pushed the wheelbarrow while Maedhros trailed behind, admiring Gildor’s beautiful ass and pondering their conversation. Something up his ass. What would that even feel like? That and other, tangential thoughts idly transited his mind. At the door nearest the kitchen, he held one of the large baskets in his arms while Gildor swiftly piled it high with neatly arranged cucumbers, before gently patting his rear to send him on his way. Fingon was already at work, paring some vegetable or other into neat piles for both human and animal consumption.

“Cucumber soup!” Fingon declared immediately, his eyebrows arching. His long fingers snatched up one of the more perfect specimens, admiring it by turning it this way and that, utterly unaware of the phallic artistry he conjured to mind. Maedhros found himself staring at his one-time mate, cheeks blushing pink at the unwanted notions entering his thought. Fingon caught the expression but thankfully misunderstood the reason. “You alright, Maitimo?” he queried, reaching over to feel his forehead. “I hope you did not begin to burn your fair skin out there; it is rather a warm day. Shall I pour you some cool tea? Here, sit down a moment.”

Glorfindel glared at the baskets. “These cucumbers are entirely out of control if you ask me. I hate to say this but part of me wishes most of them would have a tragic accident.”

“What?” Erestor said, his head snaking around the doorway.

“And now the reckoning,” Maedhros smiled just as Gildor walked in with the second heaping basket of cucumbers.

“Ress,” Glorfindel looked aside with some guilt. “I would not have said that had I known you were near. I apologize. To you, for your sensibilities. But not to the fucking cucumbers. This is worse than Gondolin,” he whined.

“No,” Erestor smiled. “I deserve it. This is…” he waved a hand around at the day’s haul, “really ridiculous. I only do not have the heart to tear out healthy plants. If I do, fate will decree that the remaining ones suddenly will die for some reason or other and then we will have none.”

“Erri, autumn is quite near,” Gildor offered. The implication was clear.

“I know their time is short regardless,” Erestor shrugged. “I am sorry. I should not be so ridiculously attached to something that makes so much work for everyone else.”

“Food is food and it is a gift from Eru” Fingon said firmly, running his hand over his braids. “I will do what I can to make sure nothing goes to waste.”

Erestor grinned at the contrast between his mates. “What is left, Gildor?”   
  


“Okra,” Gildor said cautiously. “But that is our job.”

“Surely I could help?” Erestor asked. “That is, if I would not be interrupting.”

“‘Tis your garden,” Gildor said.  “We are here to do thy bidding.”

“And he means that in more ways than one,” Maedhros said, giving Gildor a playful smack on the rear.  “Seriously, though, shall we get back to it? Okra, more cucumbers, whatever else we can find?” 

Fingon suddenly piped up with, “Can we transplant some of the cucumbers?  We could see if there is anyone we know who has plants that are failing, and offer some of the extras?  Or is it too late once they bear fruit?” Fingon tilted his head. “Is it still ‘bearing fruit’ if it is a vegetable?”

“Uhm...that will not work once they are this large,” Glorfindel offered. “The roots are too extensive and too delicate. We would need to cut the vines back in order for the plant to have a chance of surviving and it would not have time to recover before winter comes. And yes, it is still fruit in a botanical sense.”

“What he said,” Erestor confirmed, moving to wrap himself around Fingon’s tall frame. Reaching up, he planted a kiss on the smooth part of his cheek and affectionately rubbed his hand against the ample beard growth that Fingon seemed to have resigned himself to having. “But it was a very good question. And it would seem that my bidding is being given high regard today, so I will leave you two and accompany these fine gentlemen to the garden.” Smiling enigmatically, he cupped Gildor’s cheek with the gentlest of touches. A moment later the sound of a clattering empty wheelbarrow could be heard moving away from the door.

Once Glorfindel and Fingon were alone in the kitchen, Fingon turned to Glorfindel and said, “Cucumber mint cupcakes,” raised a brow, and awaited judgement from his culinary companion.

“Really? That can be a thing?” Glorfindel asked, trying to imagine--with only partial success--what such an item might taste like. 

“One way to find out.”  Fingon began to assemble the necessary baking trays and gathered the largest of the mixing bowls.  “I think if I make cucumber salad and cucumber sandwiches again, there may well be a mutiny.”

“But...how?” Glorfindel asked. “Cucumbers are mostly water, how are you going to...oh. I think I understand. But even Erestor cannot eat that many cupcakes. What about relish?”

“Relish is fine, but how many things are we going to garnish?  Here-- come with me,” insisted Fingon, and before Glorfindel could say yea or nay, he was being pulled down the flight of stairs to the basement, and to the sub basement after that.  “You have to see what is going on down here. We are… a bit inundated,” explained Fingon, and he brought Glorfindel round a corner, stopping only to light a candle so that they could see what was before them.  “Behold,” said Fingon with flourish, and there in the back corner, was an impressive supply of preserved cucumbers. “Pickles and relish, of every flavor,” decreed Fingon. What was even more interesting was how it was stored.  Instead of rows on shelves, someone had arranged them into a structure, like a child’s playhouse, with boards separating about eight jars up to add stability to the upper layers. “Gildor did that,” added Fingon, lest he be scolded for the storage arrangement.  Other areas of the back portion contained preserved eggs, beets, and nearly anything someone had thought could be pickled, jellied, made into a jam, or dried.

“I did not know,” Glorfindel whispered, deeply impressed. “I now feel that you are beyond amazing and I have no idea how I could be deserving of you. I guess we do not need relish, and I was thinking too much about fish salad sandwiches. I love those, with relish and mayonnaise and a bit of cheese on toasted bread. But probably I am the only one.” Moving closer, he pulled Fingon against him tightly, rubbing the lithe back under his hands. “I am a very fortunate man.”

“You are even more fortunate that I like fish, too.”  Fingon squeezed Glorfindel tightly and made the following offer: “Instead of processing more cucumbers right now, what if we sneak out the front and go down to the stream and see if we can catch some fresh fish?  Later, once we see what the rest of the harvest has brought, we can determine whether to attempt cucumber cupcakes or something else. Also, you have a stall at the market. I know that you are bogged down with orders, and have no stock to sell with your paintings, but do you think that we should try to sell off some of the fresh produce and even this that we are stockpiling?  I do like to make sure we will be alright for winter, and we have more people here now, but I think…” He surveyed the immense number of jars. “...I know we have enough for several winters right now. Perhaps Gildor would have an interest in taking them there. He seems quite good at selling things.”

“Fishing with you?” Glorfindel asked besottedly. “I will dig for worms.”

“No need.  Ever been fly fishing?” Something seemed to sparkle in Fingon’s eyes, but it might have just been the candlelight.

“I have seen it but I do not know how,” Glorfindel admitted, his mind less on fishing and more on the fisherman with every passing moment--but he did not want to ruin the possibility of an outing with his lust. “Teach me?”

“No bait, just lots of pretty and sparkly-- oh, come on,” said Fingon, and off they were again, backtracking hastily to retrieve the candle before Fingon now pulled Glorfindel up the stairs and this way and that, and they almost ran into Asfaloth on the way up to the library, where Fingon went to the desk he had claimed and pulled open one of the fastidiously organized drawers and lifted from it a small wooden box, which he carefully opened.  In tiny compartments were little metal and feather adorned hooks of brilliant colors and a variety of shapes. They shined and sparkled as Fingon tilted the box. “There are very, very few things that Turgon and I have in common, but this was that one little thing. I think because when we went fishing, we both stayed quiet so that we did not scare the fish,” Fingon presumed.

“So...he can shut up after all?” Glorfindel wanted to know, recalling a much earlier conversation.

Fingon grinned.  “That must be why I loved fly fishing with him so much.  Now, I only have one pole, so we will need to share, but we are already really, really good at sharing things, so I think we can manage.  If you like it, I can make a pole for you later.”

“That would be very generous,” Glorfindel replied, flushing with happiness at the mere idea. What Fingon could buy him was not nearly as moving as what he could craft with his own hands. “Can I carry anything for you?”

Fingon closed the box and handed it to Glorfindel.  “Let me go and get my pole and a bucket and we will be off.”

The hardest part was obtaining a bucket without being seen by those in the garden, but it was accomplished with the help of Asfaloth, who willingly distracted the harvesting trio with an interpretive dance, complete with copious amounts of bells on every limb.  Fingon and Glorfindel were now at the river, with Glorfindel holding the pole while Fingon stood behind him and helped to guide his hands and movements. “Just relax,” advised Fingon when he noticed that Glorfindel’s movements were slightly jerky due to his grip on the pole.  He kissed Glorfindel behind the ear and adjusted their stance. “Let the wind help to guide it. The line and the hook are very light. There, that was much better,” commended Fingon as the fly danced and sparkled as it skimmed through the air over the water.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes and melted into the touch. “I think it would help if you guide my movements.” If nothing else, this position also hid his arousal, that flared to life from the innocent contact. He tried to focus on the cold of the water, the fish, even the bucket on the shore, but his penis refused to cooperate.  With the additional padding of a second loin cloth, it was almost obscene to look upon him at the front.  _ Bad boy _ , he scolded his recalcitrant anatomy.

“I can do that.”  Fingon crouched a little with a widened stance so that he was able to better meld himself to Glorfindel.  The position might have become painful for some, but Fingon’s intense training allowed him to support his weight with little effort.  “Relax and feel the movements. Close your eyes.” Fingon’s body flowed and moved Glorfindel with a sort of rhythm. “Very good. Like that.  Open your eyes.” Fingon’s gaze flickered down to see if Glorfindel was watching again. He caught sight of something else, and pressed his lips together as he looked back up.  “Alright. Let us see if we can catch anything,” he said in as even of a voice as he could manage.

“I will do my best,” Glorfindel smiled, determined to have this time be about what Fingon wished. “I want to dance with you sometime. Of all that we have done together I have enjoyed few things greater than our bodies sharing motion.” He wavered, instantly regretting his choice of words. “I--I mean, I like that sort of thing. Dancing. Erestor is graceful but not in the same manner.” His cheeks were flushing a very deep pink from his mistake.  _ Glorfindel, you ass _ , he reproached himself.  _ You have to be able to do better than this! _

“I like... moving with you, too.”  Fingon bit his lip, lowered their arms and took a slight step back.  “Uh... I…we might have to continue this lesson later,” he mumbled. He could feel his cheeks turning red and he nuzzled at Glorfindel’s hair to hide it.  “We are not going to manage to catch any fish today,” whispered Fingon into the golden locks.

“Am I that bad?” Glorfindel asked, a hint of panic in his voice. “I will try harder, Káno! I did not wish to disappoint you. I wanted so much to do something you like. With you.”

“You are not a disappointment, Glorfindel.  Fin. My beautiful Fin.” Fingon nuzzled against Glorfindel’s cheek and kissed at his neck as he stepped forward again, melding against Glorfindel as they had been, and now it would be obvious to Glorfindel that he was not the only one aroused.  “Not exactly what I thought we would catch, but perhaps it will do,” he whispered as he kissed along Glorfindel’s jaw.

“I tried to behave myself and I could not even do that,” he groaned. “Nor can I repent with any honesty.” His hands twisted into Fingon’s braids, relishing the attention. “I feel like a young ellon again, only this time no one is telling me I must deny myself love.”

“Mmm, no, in fact, I encourage it wholeheartedly.” Fingon removed the pole from Glorfindel’s hands and tossed it gently into the grass.  “You make me burn for you in ways I never dreamed.” Fingon’s hands traveled up and down Glorfindel’s thighs while he continued to kiss Glorfindel’s neck and the side of his face.  The wind blew the golden hair in his way, but he ignored it except to nuzzle his nose against it and take in the scent that was so very much Glorfindel. “I remember sitting on your lap and sniffing you, early in the days when we started living here,” recalled Fingon with sudden giddy delight.  “If only I had been a little more drunk, maybe we would have reached this point sooner.”

“I remember. I did not know what to think at the time, except that we were both gay men sharing humor and affection. I do not think that with the mess with Faelion and Erestor’s troubles that I could have accepted you at that time. But then again…” he shook his head. “We will never know, but you have me now. How can I fulfill the King’s desire?” 

Glorfindel’s words caused Fingon to groan, and he turned Glorfindel in his arms.  “I just know that we both need something we can give to each other.” Fingon fingered at the lacing of Glorfindel’s shirt.  “Your desire came upon you first. What did you have in mind, Fin? What were you thinking of when we were pressed together and you felt the first tingle of heat within you?”  One finger twirled around the end of the leather and pulled it slowly down to untie it.

“It is always the same for me, for I am selfish,” Glorfindel answered truthfully. “You, inside of me. You, possessing my body. Me, knowing that my flesh gives you pleasure. But I will do whatever you ask. Everything does not have to be what I wish.”

“That still gives us so many options, lover,” said Fingon as he traced a finger from Glorfindel’s throat down to the now revealed flesh of his chest.  “I have every intention of making love to you, sweetling. How, though…” Fingon’s hands circled Glorfindel’s waist so that he could dig his fingers into Glorfindel’s hips, teasing him for whatever was to come, before he tugged on the hem of Glorfindel’s shirt to pull it free and slowly slide it over Glorfindel’s head.  “How, indeed… how shall we proceed? Hands and knees? On your back? Up against that tree? The possibilities are endless,” remarked Fingon as he dropped the shirt aside onto the ground. “And then…another question as well,” he whispered as he closed the distance and hungrily kissed Glorfindel once, twice, and then moved to his neck and shoulder, one hand on Glorfindel’s rear to pull them closer, bodies aligned and erections straining against clothing, and for Glorfindel, more than that.

To Glorfindel, the choices might as well have been between cheesecake, strawberries, and strawberry cheesecake. Anyone sensible wanted all of them.  _ Greedy, greedy,  _ he admonished himself. “Please, clothes off,” he moaned. “Want to feel your skin. Please?”

_ You know I can hear you, right?   _ Fingon tilted his head and smiled as he licked his lips.   _ You can have it all if you wish.   _ “As you wish,” said Fingon quietly as he very slowly began to remove his clothing, his eyes locked on Glorfindel as he performed a very deliberate striptease, turning his body, moving his hips, wiggling his way out of his clothing as he watched Glorfindel with a half-lidded gaze.

_ I forget. I am still stuck on how it was before we wed. I do not know why I cannot keep it clearly in mind. Maybe because of how beautiful you are. I see you and I cannot think straight.  _ His heart pounded in his chest, his anticipation rising.  _ I feel so consumed by desire for you. Sometimes I feel guilty because while I love Erestor, it is a deep and familiar and comfortable love. This is raw and intense and I struggle to have any control. Is something the matter with me? _

_ No.  Erestor is a gift to us both.  Loved and cherished by us equally.   _ “This feels different because it is different.”  Fingon, now naked, approached Glorfindel, still wearing everything except his shirt.  The fingers of one of Fingon’s hands traveled up Glorfindel’s arm to his shoulder. Then, without a hint of warning, that same hand was suddenly behind Glorfindel’s neck, and Fingon’s lips were against Glorfindel’s.   _ You were made for me.  You were created for me.   _ He projected the words as he continued to kiss Glorfindel, tongue insistently delving between Glorfindel’s lips.   _ You were created to be with me, to match me, to equal me, to love me.   _ “And that is why it is so much, so vibrant, so intense,” panted Fingon as he drew back slightly.  “It is because it is so true. It was in His plan for us from the first thoughts He had of us. We are not meant to have control.  Our lives now seem in two categories -- the moments of ecstasy when that one soul we share is fit together in supreme bliss, and everything else.  That probably makes it sound like Erestor is left out, but we both know that is not the case. He makes something that should be unmatchable, unable to be surpassed, so much more than it is for anyone else.”  Fingon took hold of Glorfindel’s hands. “There will be time for philosophy later,” he murmured as he kissed Glorfindel’s hands, and then pressed his palms to his chest. “Touch me as you desire,” he begged.

Immediately those hands strayed to the shoulders, then moved down the waist, fingers probing and massaging the tiny muscles around the hips and lower spine. All the bones and sinews under his fingers felt the radiant heat, and Glorfindel flushed anew with want, a broad streak of rosy color appearing on his chest and throat. His eyes locked with Fingon’s and he gave his dilemma to his lover.  _ I want to be naked with you but I want you to kiss me again like that, and I want all of it right now. I do not know what to do.  _ His hips bucked up against Fingon’s body, seeking heat. Seeking sensation.

Fingon took the decision away, and resumed his kisses while he blindly reached down to work at Glorfindel’s clothing with one hand.  He gave a smug grunt when he threw Glorfindel’s belt into the weeds, for everything else was far easier to remove, sight unseen. When he reached the last garment, Fingon paused, and looked at Glorfindel.  “How… how are you today? How is it…how is everything?” he asked, unsure of quite what he was asking, but feeling he should address the subject in some way.

“I, uhm...I am still bleeding. It will be like that for several more days. I have desire for you but I also think that if you love me in that manner, please start out slowly? I do not have good words to describe this and...wait, you can hear me. Can you feel what I feel? The aching of my womb from the flow, but the craving in that same place that wants only you? How I want you inside me, but I do not know if anything too vigorous will work?” His voice dropped more in volume. “How I want to come, writhing underneath you knowing that you will fill me as no one else can?” He spread his legs in invitation, unashamed of his vulnerability or his need. The burning need he was so used to feeling in his loins had of late seemed to spread, to occupy more of his nether regions. “That is the best way I know how to answer.”

Another kiss brushed Glorfindel’s lips, this one quite gentle and lingering.  “Sometimes, I think I can feel wisps of your emotions and of your physical being.  I can only imagine that will strengthen in time, and I welcome it.” Fingon separated from Glorfindel so that he could gather up the clothing they had flung about and bunched it up on the ground as a makeshift pillow, and then beckoned Glorfindel to join him there.

Charmingly, the blond crawled on all fours. After a moment’s hesitation, he removed the final garment that absorbed his menstruation and kept his other clothing clean, and set it aside. An urge to hide the bloodstained cloth came over him, but he rejected it. If he could not be comfortable concerning the realities of his body with Fingon and Erestor, then there was something wrong. “Am I to lie down, love? How do you wish to begin?”

“However you are most comfortable.”  Fingon was busy pulling his braids back with one hand while he wrapped one around the others with his other hand to keep them out of his way.  His gaze traced the outline of Glorfindel’s body as he waited, and he breathed in deeply of Glorfindel’s scent. There was another smell he found strangely arousing, and he looked momentarily at the undergarment Glorfindel had discarded.  Back to Glorfindel, who was situating himself, and Fingon ran his tongue across the edge of his upper teeth. “I want--” Fingon bit his tongue, but two things occurred to him: Glorfindel probably already knew what he was going to say, and Glorfindel was being completely honest with him.  “I want…to taste…you.” Fingon held his breath, uncertain if he was crossing a line.

A profound sense of acceptance coursed through Glorfindel. He guessed Fingon might never fully understand how his father’s rejection of his body, his very self, had affected him. Now his husband was telling him irrefutably of the magnitude to which every last part of him was wanted. Wordlessly, he raised his knees toward his chest, spreading his legs to allow for what his lover wished. His toes arced downward as he flexed his feet, liking the stretching sensation in his ankles.

Fingon crawled forward on all fours just as Glorfindel had, and slowed when he came close.  His hands touched Glorfindel’s legs and moved in small circles as he kissed his way along, from the inside of Glorfindel’s knee to his inner thigh, creeping closer and closer, until Fingon reached his goal.  In order to do as he wished, Fingon had to elevate Glorfindel’s scrotum, which he did without hesitation. Fingon even kissed twice gently along the length of his lover’s erection before he continued on, and then his tongue traced along a moist edge, metallic tang of blood mixed with something unusual, something intoxicating, and it made him groan and before he knew quite what he was doing, his tongue was not tentative, but exploring, sliding in deeper, and his hands were under Glorfindel’s rear.  Only then did Fingon realize how far he had gone, and how it might not have been the slow and gentle Glorfindel wished for, and he sat back up with a start. “Sorry.” Fingon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, studying Glorfindel’s face.

“Please, more,” he whispered, a sheen of perspiration on his face. “That was...I mean, if you wanted to, did you stop because…” Glorfindel’s phallus wept clear, silky fluid. “Uhhhnnh,” he trailed off, now worried he perhaps was making a fool of himself. But that soft, burrowing tongue inside of him--a spasm clenched his loins just at the memory.

Relief was the first thing Fingon felt; renewed desire was next.  Fingon lowered himself back down. This time he adjusted his position, with his head tilted to the side.  He circled his tongue around the entry of Glorfindel’s passage before he extended it within. Fingon groaned, his hands sliding under Glorfindel again.  Part of Glorfindel’s male genitalia rested against Fingon’s bearded cheek in his position, and rolled against it as Fingon continued his exploration.

The golden head rocked back and forth as he squirmed from the pleasure, but he felt his hips locked in a tight grip that he did not try to resist. This was submission to his lover and his body thrilled with the excitement he felt, the assuaging of his desire. Both hands wove their fingers into the long blades of grass and held on all the while issuing soft moans. He was being teased in a sweet agony, helpless to do anything about it. He recalled Fingon’s words, that his very existence was meant to lead to their union. Their union gave ecstasy.

A moment was needed to catch his breath, and Fingon eased back and wiped his splayed fingers past his chin and bottom lip, smearing blood and Glorfindel’s essence over his hand.  Intoxicated by the scent and taste, it scared Fingon a little. He licked his teeth, temporarily stained red, and lifted two fingers to suck on them before he eased them within Glorfindel and realized that despite Glorfindel’s experience with anal gratification, this method of entry required far less preparation.  Whereas Fingon felt that his previous sexual experiences with his husbands reminded him of being gripped by something strong and firm, like a hand gloved in leather, this experience was like a passage made of silk, and he bowed his head again to lightly flick his tongue across the sensitive skin between Glorfindel’s scrotum and where Fingon’s fingers disappeared into at a slow and steady pace.

Every pore broke open in a dewy sheen as the moans continued. Glorfindel reached with one hand to stroke Fingon’s arm, for it was most of what he could reach. Impatient, he offered an observation. “It is not like the other place. It seems to be ever-ready, once I know we will be together. I wish I knew more about how these things worked. I wish I could talk to a...uhm, never mind,” he blushed, flailing. Too late did he realize what the words ‘a married elleth’ would sound like. As if he could ever manage such a conversation with someone besides his husbands...no. Definitely not happening. “That feels so nice,” he lamely tried to recover, forcing himself to relax and forget his near-blunder.

As much as he wanted to find out what Glorfindel meant to say, Fingon found he was slightly more interested in the activity they were engaged in than he was with discussion of any sort.  His fingers were warm, and he withdrew them, and rubbed at the almost black clots of blood sticking to them. Lifting himself up so that he could look down at Glorfindel, Fingon asked, “And are you ready?  For me? I am…painfully ready for you,” he admitted, for he could feel the throb in his stiff erection. Again, Fingon lifted his hand and used his palm to wipe his face. He clumsily left a streak of crimson down his throat and across his chest before he rested his hand in the grass again.

Glorfindel propped himself up on his elbows and looked beyond the space between them.  Both feral and fey was how Fingon looked to him, and Glorfindel swept his tongue across his lips without thought.  How many times had he been in the position Fingon was in now, feeling as if he might burst, but knowing he would not find release on his own?  Curious as to how much longer he could prolong their foreplay, Glorfindel rose up and crawled forward. Fingon stumbled back, caught off his guard in a rare moment of inattentiveness.  Glorfindel pinned Fingon’s hands to the ground and teasingly bowed his head as if he was going to kiss Fingon, only to pull away with a smile.

“Naughty, naughty,” scolded Fingon.  He flexed his fingers to test his strength against Glorfindel’s.  Both were impressive, and Fingon wondered if he might be compelled to beg for mercy before the end.  For now, it was continuing to build his arousal, and he attempted a blind thrust at Glorfindel, but it only met air and Glorfindel chuckled before he leaned down to nip at Fingon’s bottom lip, only to pull back again.

“I never would have considered it possible to make this sort of encounter erotic.”  Glorfindel’s words were drawn out and slurred melodically together. He scooted up so that he could rub himself against Fingon’s chest and groan, leaving Fingon’s length helplessly untouched.

“I have a feeling you have the ability to make just about any encounter erotic simply by being there,” countered Fingon.  With his arms pinned, he attempted to gain some control over the situation with his legs, but Glorfindel had managed to find a position that kept him just out of reach.  “You are delightfully wicked,” decided Fingon.

“Oh, just imagine how delightful it will be when you plunge yourself inside of me,” whispered Glorfindel, who continued to rock against the firm muscles of his mate.  Blood marked Fingon’s skin in a way that made it seem as if Glorfindel was claiming him. There was even blood in some of the long braids, but neither seemed to care. “That is, of course, if I let you.  Maybe I will just find my release here, and make you wait until later.”

Fingon growled and thrust his hips futilely again.  “You are cruel,” he accused with a groan.

Glorfindel leaned down and bit the tip of Fingon’s ear hard without warning.  Some combination of a yelp and a moan from Fingon rippled excitement through Glorfindel, who tugged on Fingon’s ear before he let go.  “You love it,” Glorfindel whispered against Fingon’s ear.

There was a pause, and then Fingon’s dexterity was left unquestioned as he turned both of his wrists around, twisted his fingers so that he had them around Glorfindel’s wrists, and suddenly had Glorfindel on his back.  Fingon straddled Glorfindel, his back arched, but his chest pressed down against Glorfindel’s, and with their lips brushing, uttered one word: “Guilty.”

“Either way,” the golden elf smiled, “I am ready for you.”

\---

Back in the garden, Gildor was quizzing the master farmer on his crops.  “All of these rows say cucumbers. These are cucumbers,” he said as he held up a large, long green vegetable, “and these are cucumbers,” he declared, holding a stubbier, shorter item of a different variety.  He placed these in the wheelbarrow, and lifted up what looked like a long green snake and held it up. “What in Middle-earth is this?”

“A cucumber,” answered Erestor.

Gildor made a face and deposited the item into the cucumber collection.  Now he held up a pair of light yellow vegetables which were fatter and shorter than the small cucumber had been.  “What are these?”

“Also cucumbers,” Erestor informed him.  Behind Gildor, Maedhros’ shoulders shook with contained laughter as he silently harvested okra.

Gildor squinted his eyes judgmentally, and tossed them both with the others.  “Fine. But… surely these are in the wrong place.” He lifted up a handful of what looked like tiny watermelons and raised his brows in challenge.

Erestor peered down at them, deadpan.  “Remarkable… I wonder what-- oh, no, those are also cucumbers, too.”

“Ullh.  Erestor.  You cannot call everything a cucumber.”  Gildor chucked the tiny cucumbers into a nearby basket.  “I swear you are fucking with me.”

Now Erestor laughed and shook his head.  “There are just so many varieties. You should take a good look at the colors of the eggs the hens lay, or the squashes come fall.  Just like Elves come in different shapes and sizes, so do cucumbers.”

“Still think you are fucking with me,” declared Gildor as he returned to his task.

Maedhros spoke up with, “I doubt he is fucking with you, Gildor.”

“And why do you say that?” Gildor asked.

“Because that is my job,” answered Maedhros.

“Fair enough,” replied Gildor.

Erestor grinned and shook his head.  “I am going to take these inside. I will be back with an empty wheelbarrow momentarily.”  He rolled the heaping harvest of cucumbers back inside through the greenhouse, passing by a few of the sunflowers that Fingon had planted a bit closer to the house than Erestor would have liked, for the reason that Glorfindel could not possibly live in a house that was not surrounded by golden flowers, and what was more appropriate than sunflowers?  Neither Erestor nor Glorfindel had yet to correct Fingon that the golden flower of choice was celandine, and so sunflowers has become a usual guest at the doors and under the windows, peeping into various rooms as they grew.

This memory made Erestor wonder what his husbands were up to, for he did not hear them in the kitchen, nor did he recall them saying anything about another task.  It was quite easy now when he wanted to for Erestor to pick up on Fingon’s thoughts. He and Glorfindel had a mental bond that strengthened over the years, and renewed once they were reunited, but Fingon was quite untrained, without much ability to mask his mind, nor to know when someone was listening in on his thoughts.  It was not long before Erestor could tell what was going on, and he smiled, glanced out the window to the garden, and sneaked upstairs to the bedroom shared with his mates.

There he did something he did not often do--he closed and locked the door.  He hastily removed his clothing and washed up at the basin before crawling into bed.  The scent of Fingon always seemed stronger than Glorfindel, and it lingered on the sheets, though when Erestor nuzzled the pillow Glorfindel used he could smell him as well.

As Erestor closed his eyes and thought with a smile on his lips of how blissful life had become now that all three of them were together, he reached down to stroke himself and imagine that all three of them were together now.  There was no jealousy involved in his actions; he found he had a great desire to know that Glorfindel and Fingon had these moments together. Only one thing was he curious about--he could tell they were together and aroused, but he wondered exactly what they were doing right now.

\---

Fingon positioned himself so that he could enter Glorfindel with just a rock of his hips, but did not do so yet.  Letting go of Glorfindel’s wrists, he took hold of his hips instead. “Ready…willing…and wanting…” With each word, he did not thrust forward, but he did move his body, bringing his hips up and then down again, stroking the outside of the slick passage as he spoke.

Glorfindel grinned good-naturedly. “I earned that, but it was still worth it.” His finger reached up to very gently boop Fingon’s nose. “You know, I never teased Erestor like that. He would not have found it enjoyable. I really annoyed him one night in Rivendell when I tried to play around with some wax candles.  But you…” He shrugged impishly and folded his hands behind his head, lounging as if he had all the time and patience in the world. Which he did not, but he had no need to admit that aloud.

“What did you do with the candles?” asked Fingon.  He had not ceased the movements, but he did slow them down, so as to bring them both continuous pleasure without elevating their desires just yet.

Glorfindel hummed as Fingon gently stimulated him and answered with, “Just the sort of playful things you read about in the sorts of books no one admits to reading.  Hot night, hot wax… it was all in fun.”

“Playing with fire,” assessed Fingon.  “A little dangerous, but…I have been delightfully burned myself from time to time.”

“You must tell Ress that. I think he would enjoy such things very much. We can be adventurous,” Glorfindel admitted. “Just not Maedhros and Gildor adventurous. They are too much, though I am very happy that Gildor has found his match.” Without warning, he shifted downward, trying to trick Fingon into penetrating him. Even a little. He did not expect to succeed, but surely he would find some reaction.

With Fingon’s hands on Glorfindel’s hips, he managed to keep control, but got the message.  “More talk later,” he promised. “Right now, I want to stop thinking in complete sentences.”  He made good on this promise, and brought their bodies into alignment, closing his eyes as he slid into Glorfindel and held the position once deeply buried.

“Blessed Eru,” Glorfindel moaned. “Please hold me? Just like this, before you start moving? I love feeling you inside of me. Your weight pinning down my body. Your arms around me. This is incomparable. Except, maybe someday we could do this and Erestor could...stop talking, Fin. Juuuuust stop talking.” Charmingly, he pursed his lips in an attempt to silence himself. If they wanted this much discussion they would have invited Asfaloth.

Fingon lifted a hand and stroked his thumb over Glorfindel’s botttom lip.  His other arm he used to hold Glorfindel, and he nuzzled along Glorfindel’s neck.  “Speak,” Fingon said as his hand drifted away. “I want to hear your voice. Your voice is--”  Fingon rested his forehead against Glorfindel’s shoulder. “When you gave me Erestor’s letters and left, I thought I would never hear your voice again.  I meant what I said then. I wanted us to be friends again. I have been blessed with so much more.”

“Ohhhhh,” Glorfindel groaned, deeply embarrassed at the memory. He closed his eyes, and burrowed his face into the mass of Fingon’s braids. “You may never know how long it took me to believe that you really forgave me. Everything...I wish I could have skipped that entire phase. With...it, I mean.” He held on tighter. “I never could have dreamed this. That someone like you could want me. The first time you kissed me...every small thing you granted me was cherished, for you owed me nothing. Still my heart warms at the thought of how much you did for me. And now to have this, with you. I will never truly believe I deserve you, but here we are.” His own words brought a spasm in his loins, that caused him to clench down around Fingon’s length, and Fingon involuntarily grunted. “Always, I will do my best for you.” Nuzzling past the hair, he burrowed in to place a kiss on what he hoped was the cheek he had sought.

“I know I have the same trouble…believing I am allowed to have such happiness.”  Fingon felt a twitch in his groin, and while he tried to keep still and enjoy their joining before rushing into the inevitable, he was fast losing the battle to do so.  “You mean so much more to me than I think you will ever know.”

“Is that why He brought us to each other, do you think? Because neither of us, after how we experienced our lives, really can believe we are meant for better? So that we build each other up until we can cease to feel undeserving?” The question was less a question at the end than a statement, a string of concepts that Glorfindel spoke tentatively, trying out the idea as though it was a garment under evaluation for purchase.

Tears pooled in Fingon’s eyes, and he was grateful that his face was unseen at the moment.  “Maybe that was His plan all along,” Fingon whispered. He kissed at the skin his lips could reach and shifted his position, testing the readiness of them both, and moaning as he felt the passage as slick as when he entered.  A shudder ran through him and he curled his toes. “I never would have thought being inside of someone like this would feel this good,” he mumbled.

“Same. I...please do not think I am crazy but I have at times felt like I should have been a woman. I mean, in a sense, I do not want to trade in my boy parts. I like them a great deal. But when you make love to me in this way...It moves me. That it is you, in there and...maybe this is my female side. I do not know how to think of it much of the time. This is better than dressing up, though.

“Well...dressing up can be a lot of fun,” admitted Fingon.  “But I think I know what you mean.” He lifted himself up on his palms so that he was just slightly elevated and no longer resting his weight atop Glorfindel.  “I like all of your sides. Facets. The different ways about you. Oh, now I sound like an uneducated ninny,” he scolded himself. Once more he leaned down, to kiss Glorfindel slowly as he slowly rocked his body and rolled his hips.

Glorfindel held on tightly, so very tightly. Every second of the hard and athletic body claiming his was relished. And more. “Feels so good,” he whispered, knowing the inanity of the words. But it  _ did _ feel so good, so what else could he mention instead? “So beautiful,” he murmured between thorough kisses. “You are so beautiful.” The colorful eyes, the heavy braids, the strength of the face, the weight of the organ possessing his body--he wished to dissolve amidst all of it.

Like a sort of instant aphrodisiac, Glorfindel’s words clouded Fingon’s mind and pushed him forward, encouraging his movements.  With graceful motions despite his lack of experience, Fingon slid in and out, finding the method to be less strenuous than the intercourse Erestor and Glorfindel had initially introduced him to.  Fingon tried a few other variations, moving muscles in different combinations, or holding his body at certain angles, but he found great pleasure in what he was doing to begin with and always returned back to it.  “You are more beautiful,” he replied when it finally registered that he had not said much.

The blond elf smiled and shook his head in disagreement, and decided to try something he hoped would increase his husband’s enjoyment. Bearing down, he tested clenching the muscles that surrounded Fingon’s length and found it surprisingly hard to maintain his grip. The harder he tried, the more elusive what he tried to do became, for he was not used to attempting to control this part of his anatomy. He bit his lip and frowned with concentration, but the grunts of what he hoped were Fingon’s enjoyment gave reassurance.

The bliss of being sheathed within the moist heat of Glorfindel’s body was intensified by the occasional pressure Fingon felt.  It was as if Glorfindel was attempting to draw him deeper and hold him in, and Fingon groaned and whimpered as pleasure pulsed and flowed, and he trembled.  His eyelids drooped, and he knew it would not be much longer before he found release. He kept himself balanced with one hand while the other he used to caress Glorfindel’s skin, moving from throat to chest and back again with light touches.  “Come with me,” he insisted, and Fingon began to move his hips with slightly more force, still mindful that he wished to be gentle with Glorfindel.

“Yes,” Glorfindel breathed, relishing Fingon’s weight. The very erotic manner in which their sacs brushed against each other combined with the constant rubbing of his lover’s body against his penis had brought him very close; even without the glorious internal massage he had experienced, something deep inside of his core felt ready to burst. “Oh, love, feels so--” Losing control, his imminent climax transfixed him in a state of ecstasy. For those precious few seconds he writhed under Fingon. His spine flexed with a will of its own, arcing him into his lover until he fell over the edge, his essence spurting between their heated bodies.

“Good,” finished Fingon for the both of them, and he held himself up by his powerful legs, his hands moving to hold Glorfindel’s hips as he thrust with a rhythmic fluidity that served to satisfy both of them.  With fingers pressing into Glorfindel’s flesh, Fingon pushed forward and held his position. His head tilted back and he groaned as he filled Glorfindel with his seed and held onto him until they were both sated, then slowly lowered himself down and nuzzled Glorfindel’s face.  “You are amazing,” he muttered as he peppered his lover’s cheek with tiny kisses.

“But you did all the work,” protested Glorfindel, seeking to hold and keep FIngon atop him so that the moment would not yet end. “You could do that to me all day long and I would revel in it. But I suppose Erestor might object at some point,” he mused. “I love Erestor so much. He is the earth beneath my feet, the one in whom my heart has always had its home. I love you. You are the skies above me, the clouds and the starry heavens, in which my spirit soars.” Stopping, he seemed surprised at the pleasing words that had just passed his lips. Clearing his throat and feeling slightly bashful, he changed the subject. “My condition has rendered you a bloody mess, and--” he cut off as his eyes widened. He could feel a particularly odd and substantial slickness moving down his passage, and it had nothing to do with Fingon; his lover had already slipped from his body. “Uhm...I think something is going on down there,” he fretted, struggling to sit up. “Oh...gross.” Both his eyes squeezed shut as he felt a slick glob pass out of his entrance. “I think I just birthed slugs. I do not even want to know what that just was. I am sorry for ruining the moment.” He shook his head. “I will never have other than high regard for ellith again.”

“Slugs, eh?”  Fingon crouched so that he could see the ground, and scooped up a sizable mass of clotted blood and internal matter.  “This?” he asked as he held it up, staining his fingers further, the blood seeping under his nails. “This was happening earlier when I was down there using my tongue.”  He tilted his hand so that it slid off and plopped on the ground. “I think I loosened up whatever is in there. I wonder, though… nope, sorry, disgusting thought,” he said as he caught himself.

Glorfindel eyed him in near disbelief. “I am in awe of the degree to which my body does not repulse you, even when I would expect it to,” he admitted. “Also I am grateful. At the moment, I feel no pain. I am not even sure there is any discomfort. This was a gift to me beyond sexual pleasure. But you have me wondering what you wonder.” The dark, almost blackish clot looked more to him like...no, he would not mention that.

“Alright.  This requires some backstory.”  Fingon poked at another of the bloody clots with curiosity that it kept its shape.  “This reminds me of raw liver. I think by now you know that there were a few times as I was growing up that my grandparents took responsibility in looking after me, and grandparents have odd notions of what constitutes ‘normal’ food, and liver was something they liked to eat and somehow thought it perfectly normal to feed it to a six-year-old.  Anyhow, that is not really the wondering part, but that is important to understand the actual thing I was thinking of.”

Glorfindel blinked, and blushed just a little, for liver (diseased and necrotic liver, to be precise) is exactly what he thought he should not mention by way of comparison. “There is more?” he gently prodded.

“Well, yes, and it has to do with fishing in a way.  So, I have more early memories of spending time with my grandfather doing things than I have about my father, who was working quite a lot when I was young.  My grandfather liked to take me for walks on his estate, and out to the woods and glens nearby. He was the person who taught me to fish and how to gather shellfish.  He had a very interesting method. He would take one of my grandmother’s embroidery hoops, and a piece of old cheesecloth, and some string, and he would make this trap that was a pouch or a bowl shape of the cloth held by the hoop, and suspended by the string.  And then he would put a small piece of raw liver in the cheesecloth and put it into the water, and we would wait for crayfish to swarm and then pull it up and trap them in the pouch. It worked really well.” Fingon stopped poking the clot on the ground. “Sorry.  My mind wanders into strange territory sometimes.”

“Do you mean we could actually...uhm...wow. Good to know? Also I am afraid...we are a mess,” Glorfindel chuckled. “I think we should take ourselves to the water lest anyone see us and imagine we were set upon by brigands.”

Fingon blinked and asked curiously, “What are brigands?” as he stood up and held out his hand to help Glorfindel from the ground.

“Thieves. Robbers. Those who would kill or injure in order to...you really do not know the word?” he asked softly in genuine surprise.

With a slow shake of his head, Fingon smiled shyly.  “I do not think you realize just how sheltered I was in both of my lives.  The times have been few that I have not had a keeper or an entourage or someone protecting me from the rest of the world.  Even when I was in Middle-earth, there was distance. There were protocols. The majority of my time there was spent seeing to my father’s interests, the heir of the Noldorin throne.  I do not think I ever encountered a brigand, and it sounds as if I would not want to.”

Glorfindel grasped Fingon’s hand with reverence and kissed his open palm, disregarding the stains of his own blood. “Then I am glad. Really, I mean that sincerely. For it means you were spared an evil not worth knowing. My prince,” he mused. “My King,” followed more soberly.

Fingon cupped Glorfindel’s cheek and kissed him fully on the lips.  “Your suggestion about the water is sound,” he said as he looked down at both of them.  While there was a evidence of the aftermath of their passion due to Glorfindel’s predicament between his legs, it was Fingon who was covered with blood, swirls and smears of crimson covering him from head to foot.  He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

Now it was Glorfindel’s turn to nod shyly, taking the proffered hand. His body still pulsed with the aftermath of pleasure and relaxation. A sense of well-being permeated him. Perfect warmth shone on their naked bodies, and the bubbling laughter of the nearby water invited them to greater refreshment. “Such a perfect afternoon. With you,” he smiled beautifully. “I wonder what Erestor is doing. I love time with you, but I wish he was here, too. Does that make sense?”

“I understand completely,” agreed Fingon as he stuck his toes into the water to test it.  It was cooler than the springs at the house, but as the day was warm, the sun kept the water from being as freezing cold as Fingon found it on mornings when he came here to bathe.  “I do not feel guilty, exactly, but I do wish he was with us. We shall have to shower our affections upon him this evening to make up for it.”

\---

Abashed, Erestor broke off the connection he had kept while touching himself and bringing himself to climax.  There was uncertainty about exactly what was going on, but the emotions and the desire were what he fed off of to leave him in the state he was now--sweaty, panting, and sated.  “And in need of a bath,” he mused, though he did not dare walk through the yard to the spring after leaving Maedhros and Gildor to harvest in his garden.

Erestor tried not to feel guilty about what he had done, but there was a sliver of shame creeping up on him.  He could feel that they had wanted him there with them, and as much as he also wanted that, he also knew that they needed time to be together without him.  He also knew he should not have eavesdropped on what he did pick up from them, but the temptation had been too great. He tried to put it out of his mind as he washed up at the basin in the bedroom and tried to refresh himself as best as he could before he returned to continue assisting Gildor and Maedhros in the yard.


	17. Day 17

“Elrond?”

The Elf in question stood on the front stoop.  He exchanged a look with Celebrían, who stood beside him.  She held a pair of leashes in her hand, with two gorgeous and well-groomed dogs attached to them, obediently sitting stone-still behind her.  

“What are you--”  When Fingon noticed that Elrond glanced at his mostly healed hand, Fingon suddenly bristled, and looked accusingly over his shoulder at Maedhros.  “You told him to--”

“No.  Your husband did.”  Maedhros, who had come up silently behind Fingon, now blocked his means of retreat, unless Fingon opted to escape up the stairs.  Maedhros looked over Fingon’s head and said to Elrond and Celebrían, “I hope you had a lovely journey here. Gildor will be thrilled to see that his ‘puppies’ also made the trip.  He and Glorfindel are gathering firewood.”

“And Erestor?” asked Elrond, sensing it best if he continued to stand in the middle of the doorway.

“Erestor is at work.”  Maedhros placed his hand upon Fingon’s upper arm.  “Come. We should let our guests enter.”

With a firm dislodging, Fingon shook off Maedhros’ hand, but stomped into the great room.  As Elrond and Celebrían entered, followed by Maedhros, they saw Fingon drop down onto the middle of the sofa, spreading his arms out to either side in a manner that showed he had little interest in sitting beside any of them.  Elrond placed a small pack and a suitcase onto the nearest table.

“Was that all you brought?” asked Maedhros.

“Oh, no, we have a trunk on the way.  It was a nice day, and Celebrían wanted to walk,” explained Elrond.  “They said they would deliver the luggage this evening.”

Celebrían released the leashes from the collars of the dogs, who both swarmed elegantly around Maedhros until he stooped down to show each of them affection in turn.  Fingon’s dog, who had bounded down the stairs when he heard the bell, came to investigate the visitors, but halted when he saw the tall, curly-haired dogs. Wagging his tail madly, he romped over, crouched, and yapped at them with excitement.  The two larger dogs exchanged a look, and then the slightly smaller of the two stepped forward and flicked her tongue over the little dog’s nose.

“Would you like something to eat?” asked Maedhros.  “There is still something warm from lunch, or I could get started on supper.”

“We can wait,” Celebrían said.  “They fed us well on that ship. We took a cruise, so it was an extra three days.  It actually cost less than coming straight over. There was dancing, and plays, and music every night, and our rooms were as luxurious as I remember our home in Imladris to be.”

“Three days seems a long while to get here,” mused Maedhros.

“I think they must use a different current,” Elrond explained.  “Anyhow, we are here now.”

“So you came to fix me.”  Fingon was glaring, but he had his gaze directed at Maedhros.

Elrond settled down in a nearby chair.  “I came because Glorfindel invited me.”

“I think if it was an invitation, I would have known about it,” brooded Fingon.

“Alright, he asked me to come.  No one said anything about ‘fixing’ anyone.  He--” Elrond stopped speaking as Fingon stood up and stormed into the kitchen, but once he was out of sight, Elrond just spoke louder.  “He is concerned, and I am his friend, and I came to offer whatever assistance I might be able. He loves you very much. If he did not, he would not have such concern.”

Fingon stood in the kitchen, gripping the counter, staring at the wooden block, from which the handles of many knives jutted out.  He fingered one of them, but slid his hand away as he heard someone entering the room. It was Celebrían, and she had her hands folded in front of her.  She kept her distance as she spoke. “I know what it feels like to hurt. I know what it feels like to want to run away from everyone. I know how hard it is to ask for help.  You are not the only prideful person in our family. I ran away once,” she reminded him. “I ran away from my family and my friends and my home, all the way here. And then, when I realized how little that helped, I had no way to go back.  Elrond is not here to judge you. In fact, he will only help you if you desire it. He is not here for his own pride. He really does want to do whatever he can to heal whomever he can. Consider this as you make your decision.”

The little dog skittered into the kitchen and pawed at Fingon’s leg.  “I need to take the dog out,” he said in a low voice, and he whistled for the creature as he walked to the door.

While standing in the yard waiting for the dog to tend to his business, Fingon watched the door open, and Maedhros exited.  Slowly, the red-head closed the distance between them. “You look pissed.”

Fingon ground his back teeth.  “You could have told me what was going on.  I feel like a damn fool. The only reason everyone has been so kind to me is that they knew he was going to show up and start analyzing me.”

“You are full of yourself,” answered Maedhros, and he earned another glare.  “People are nice to you because they love you. Why does it always have to be linked to some other reason for you?”  Maedhros crossed his arms over his chest. “You have not tried to hit me yet, so I take it you are not upset at me directly.”

“Perceptive,” answered Fingon.

“So, who are you pissed at, then?  Glorfindel?” Maedhros waited until he saw the tell from Fingon; the clenching of the fist holding the dog’s leash, and the flicker of anger in the golden eyes.  “You want someone to be pissed at? Go look in the mirror, Fin. Look around you. We are all trying to change for the better. Even me, and you know how hard that has been for me.  Do you know what I asked Gildor yesterday?”

“Probably to do something sexual,” muttered Fingon.

“Actually, yes, but most likely not what you would think,” shot back Maedhros.  “I asked him if he wanted to fuck me.”

Fingon blinked.  “You are lying,” he said immediately.

Maedhros stepped in front of Fingon and bent his knees slightly so that they were eye-to-eye.  “Do I look like I am lying? I am trying to discard all of my father’s erroneous teachings, and all of the worries I have had about what my brothers might say or think about me.  I have to live my life the way I want to. You need to give yourself permission to do the same.” Maedhros stood back up. “So, are you going to stay out here so you can throw a tantrum when Glorfindel gets back?”

\---

When Glorfindel did return, he and Gildor were greeted by the elegant hounds.  “My babies!” exclaimed Gildor as he rolled around on the floor with the dogs, cuddling and hugging them like an elfling reunited with his favorite pets.  

Glorfindel smiled, but looked around uneasily.  Elrond smiled and stood, and they hugged, and Celebrían approached next.  “It is so good to see the two of you,” said Glorfindel. He glanced about, and saw Maedhros and Asfaloth sitting on the couch.  “Erestor is not back from work yet,” he said.

“He should be home soon,” Maedhros said confidently.

Glorfindel bit his lip.  “And… Fingon?”

Maedhros glanced upwards.  “He said he had a headache and went to the bedroom.”

“I should… I should go up and…”  Glorfindel wrung his hands, and said to Celebrían and Elrond, still standing close by, “Pray for me.”  Elrond gave him a hopeful smile, and Celebrían kissed Glorfindel’s cheek.

Glorfindel shuffled out of the room and up the stairs, taking them so slowly he could hear every little creak as he went.  When he reached the bedroom, he saw that there were extra coverings over the windows, blankets that were hung to keep every bit of sunlight out.  Fingon was in the bed, with his back to the door, as far on the edge of the bed as he could get without falling out. “Shut the door, please,” Fingon softly requested, and Glorfindel shut the door as quietly as possible, plunging the room into darkness.

Quietly Glorfindel went to be near Fingon. Near enough to reach out and touch, but not near enough to hold.  “The part of me that always will feel submissive, less deserving, wants to kneel before you and beg your forgiveness,” he began quietly, his head drooping low. “But the rest of me, where what is left of my courage and my resolve and my sense of right still dwells--cannot. I learned something about you that I felt you wrongly hid. I raged against you. And in doing so I found a deep well of pain inside of you that I could not have fathomed. I felt justified and terribly wrong, all at the same time. Then Gildor and Mae went into withdrawal and Erestor was the most stable individual in the entire household next to DogDog. 

“What would you have done in my stead? Ignored the deeply complicated emotional agony in you, pain bad enough to cause you to rend your own flesh? Can you truly tell me you would not have reached out for some means to get help, in desperation? I know you could not, Káno. It is why you brought Erestor to Elrond all those years ago.” He hung his head. “And yet I still ask your forgiveness, because I love you deeply and even the hint of discord between us tears at my heart.” Towards the end of his speech his voice began to tremble and quaver, though he tried very hard to suppress it. Now all his will was bent on not dissolving into tears, like he very much wanted to. Still his voice held great strain. “I invited Elrond here because we need him. Because he once was my Lord and I love him, and he would never do harm to another. He has saved Erestor. Then he saved me. Please, Káno?” The rest was left unsaid.

With his back still facing Glorfindel, Fingon, who was clinging to one of the pillows, spoke.  “I am ashamed that I could not handle this on my own. I am embarrassed that at this age, I could not overcome these things.”  He let out a shaky sigh. “I want you to hold me, and I am even too proud to ask that of you.”

“No, baby,” Glorfindel said, at last feeling he had permission to crawl behind Fingon. His arms gathered the larger body against him and encouraged him to fall gently back onto the bed. “What we talked about the other day. I am embarrassed about many things. So are you. We each know those things do not matter to the other. This is what building each other up means. Just lie here with me holding you, and talk about whatever you want. Or nothing at all. I am not going anywhere.” Glorfindel nuzzled into place, peppering kisses of devotion on Fingon’s neck. This moment of quiet was treasured.

“Maedhros probably told you I was upset when Elrond arrived.  I was so angry, and I thought I was angry at you, but Maedhros was right.  I should be angry with myself, and that is what I really feel. I should be able to overcome just about anything.  I faced a fucking balrog. I was going to go after Morgoth myself, had my father not stopped me and gone after him instead.  It makes no sense that I can charge into battle against terrible things with almost zero chance of survival without fear, and yet, asking for emotional support or some other assistance causes me to tuck tail or freeze.”

Glorfindel held him closer. “But sweetheart,” he murmured. “I have the same problem. I killed mine. I mean, it was difficult and all, and there was that being dragged by my hair thing, but...look at me. If I think I made a mistake I want to start sobbing. I barely believe I deserve to exist in this relationship. This life. This world. Why does it have to make sense? I just...I have problems. That you have similar problems makes me feel like I am not alone. Like I am not some sort of hopeless freak.”

“You are not a freak,” scolded Fingon gently.  “And anyone ever tries to drag you by your hair again, I will personally cut off their hands.  Both of them. I have experience I should put to use.” Fingon turned so that he could wrap his arms around Glorfindel and cuddle against him.  “Alright. So Elrond is here, and Gildor is here, and everyone wants me to be well again. What is the plan?”

“Maybe just be honest about your struggles. Try not to get angry. You have no enemies here. Other than that, you know as much as I do. I, too, would like to feel as I once did, before life broke me down into what I now am. I hope that this can help all of us. Not just you. I mean, I love Erestor to pieces but when he is doing the best of the five of us…” He gave a soft smile, for he did not really mean his words. “I feel like the gauntlets have been thrown down.”

A very soft tapping was heard on the door, and then Erestor let himself in.  He shut the door as soon as he had confirmation that his husbands were lying in the bed, and knelt down so that he could kiss them both on the top of their heads.  “I do not know if either of you are hungry, but Maedhros and Elrond are making some sort of secret recipe and they are talking in some sort of weird little code and it is kind of adorable, so if you are up to it, you should at least consider coming down to listen to their nonsense talk.  Also, I love you both and I missed you a lot today.” Erestor snuggled up against Glorfindel, but reached over so that his arm was around both of his lovers.

“Greetings, Ress,” Glorfindel said, latching onto his arm. “I want to see your peerless face. Maybe some gratuitous cheek kissing too. But I am indeed hungry, and missed you as well.” Squirming around, he relaxed his hold on Fingon so that he could somehow wind up on his back, limbs akimbo and one of his legs over one each of his partners.

“Missed you, too,” answered Fingon.  He, too, draped an arm so that it covered Glorfindel and his fingers touched Erestor.  “There has apparently been a plot against me, under this roof, for my own good or something like that.”

Erestor sighed as he rubbed his cheek against Glorfindel’s shoulder.  “No one is obligated or required, but you deserved the option. I hope you know that it came from a place of love and concern.”

“I do,” said Fingon softly.

“And if you continue to have a desire for rough and slightly dangerous sexual escapades, I will indulge you so long as what we are doing leaves no lasting damage and continues to be enjoyable.”  Erestor reached behind Fingon’s ear and dug his fingernails in, dragging them down, leaving a mark that would be unseen by their guests. Fingon grunted but did not move away.

“I almost feel envious,” Glorfindel said timidly. “Then I remember I am no good at that.” He snaked one hand into Erestor’s hair and brought him near for a thoroughly enjoyable kiss. “So glad you are home.”

“Mmm, you are really good at this, though,” complimented Erestor as he kissed Glorfindel back.  “And…I just realized something, but maybe I should keep my mouth shut. Of course, having said that, you are both going to want details,” Erestor assumed.

“Yes, yes we are,” Glorfindel smiled. “I want to play with your hair and hear all of them. Or perhaps you would like a brief massage after your long day? Consider me at your service.” His eyes twinkled in the dim light.

“Well, it is an odd sort of thought I just had,” said Erestor.  “The reason I am so good at such unconventional play is that I learned techniques of torture while I was in Rog’s army that allowed for pain without death.  I never thought any of that would actually come in handy even though I went with it because it was part of the training.”

“If you want to compare morbid thoughts, it has crossed my mind more than once that I doubt anyone could have broken me had I been captured,” said Fingon with greater confidence than he felt anyone should have about such a statement.

Glorfindel saw what passed between the two of them and worried very much that the discussion was not heading in a desirable direction. “I would really like to go down to the kitchen, but only if you both will come with me?” he pleaded.

“I most certainly will,” Erestor said.  “I accidentally skipped lunch and worked late.  Just like in Rivendell,” he added before Glorfindel could say it.  “Old habits die hard, if at all.”

Fingon shifted and stretched as he sat up.  “What are Maedhros and Elrond making for supper?”

“Smells like…” Glorfindel frowned. “Smells like I am not certain. Ress, did they tell you what the top secret preparations were? Oh--well it would not be very top secret if you knew, now, would it…” He sighed.

“There were shellfish involved, and I reminded them that I do not eat meat, and then the two of them exchanged some new nonsense I have never encountered, and I could not make out most of it because they spoke so fast, but there was one word--maybe it was an expression.  ‘Wocbocte.’ And they chattered back and forth, and then Elrond assured me there would be things I could eat,” said Erestor.

Glorfindel blinked. That certainly sounded like no dish or implement with which he had any familiarity. He cleared his throat. “I see.”

“We will get no answers staying here,” decided Fingon.  He stretched again and let out a mighty yawn before he rubbed his head.  “I may come back up, though. My head still hurts.”

“In that case I want us to say our greetings, then go to the sofa,” Glorfindel insisted. “I want to rub your neck and shoulders. Maybe I can even massage your scalp a little; your braids do not appear to be very tight today.”

“They got messed up when I laid down,” answered Fingon, but he did not seem to argue about the rest of Glorfindel’s plan.  “I woke up with a headache,” he revealed as he stood.

“Maybe Gildor has something to help ease it,” suggested Erestor as he, too, climbed out of bed and went to open the door so that they were not trying to move around in near darkness.

The trio traveled down to the main floor.  In the kitchen, Gildor, Celebrían, and Asfaloth were all sitting at the table, watching Elrond and Maedhros cook.  Little was said, except for the unusual conversation between Elrond and Maedhros that sounded like gibberish. Gildor was building another of his card towers, and Asfaloth was stealing cubes from the sugar bowl.

“Welcome, family. Now we may greet you properly,” Glorfindel said, going first to Elrond and then Celebrían. “We are very grateful. And...I know there is something Fingon wants to say though it is not easy for him. Love?” His expression was gentle, and supportive. One hand was kept on Fingon’s arm in both affection and encouragement.

Eyes wide and caught off-guard, Fingon began to twist his fingers together.  “Uhm…” He started to shake his head and squirmed away. “I…I need to go lie down…my head still hurts,” he mumbled as he managed to dodge his way out of the room.

Erestor stood still, looking helpless, unsure whether to stay by Glorfindel or follow after Fingon.  Maedhros gave Glorfindel a sympathetic look. It was Gildor who offered advice. “If he needs to rest, maybe I can bring up some food for all of you in a little while.  I think, I understand what you are trying to help him with, but he might need…something a little less spontaneous.”

“I am sorry,” Glorfindel carded his hand through his hair. “He has a headache. Could anyone help us with that? I am going to go take care of him. See if he will let me unbraid some of his hair. Or something. Mostly I wanted to say how much your visit is appreciated,” he announced, trying to remain upbeat and keep the uncertainty from his voice. “Please excuse me.” Turning, he left to follow Fingon. It was not difficult to catch up with him; the squeak on the stairs gave him away. “I am so sorry. I wanted to help and I made a fiasco out of it and put you on the spot. I will shut my mouth now and only take care of you. That is, if you will let me? I hope you will let me.” He was very close to tears and struggling mightily to keep that from being detectable.

Fingon had deposited himself in the library, on the mattress that was still there from days before.  His arms were hugged around himself, and he stared down at his feet. “There are days I feel I can take on the world, and there are days I can barely take care of myself.  I have no idea what you wanted me to say down there. You have no idea how often I have to prepare what I am going to say in my head before I can say it. I rehearse it over and over, and sometimes, all I mean to say is a simple greeting, but I freeze if I cannot practice it.  I feel like an idiot. I do not want to ruin the evening for anyone. Do you think Gildor has something that will let me sleep?”

“I asked him for something for you. Actually, I asked the entire room and then sort of left.” Glorfindel shrugged. “I want to stay with you, and it is not ruining my anything. Sweetheart, would you let me unbraid some of your braids? Maybe where it hurts the most?”

Fingon appeared unconvinced about this idea.  “I am still going to have the headache, only then I am going to have ratted up hair on top of it.”

Close behind them, Erestor entered the room, and with him, Gildor, who was carrying a small leather case.  “Excuse me,” said Gildor as he moved around Glorfindel to reach Fingon. “Glorfindel said that you would like something to ease the pain from your headache.”

“I just want to sleep,” clarified Fingon.

Gildor took a deep breath as he looked at what was in the case.  “I hesitate not to treat the issue at hand, and if I give you something for one, I should not give you something for the other as it might add nausea to your symptoms.  If I give you something to sleep, you could wake up from your headache and be unable to fall asleep again. At least if the headache is gone, it should mean that you would be able to sleep peacefully.”

Standing up, Glorfindel left the room for the moment, hoarsely calling “privy” and hoping that at least some of them believed that. He dashed off instead to their bedroom, where he gave way to tears. How had he made such a mess of everything? Elrond. Fingon. A headache. Welcoming their guests--a pack of wargs could have done as well. Quickly he stuffed his face into his own pillow, the glassware underneath clinking in protest as his arms bunched it up. He would need a few minutes, that was all, to get this out of his system.

After a few minutes, the door to the bedroom was pushed open, but it was not one of the usual occupants who entered.  “Finde?” The mattress dipped as Gildor sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to rub circles on Glorfindel’s back.  “Shh. Everything is going to be fine in the end. We have Elrond. Things always work out when Elrond is around,” reasoned Gildor.  “I wanted to let you know what I gave him, since Erestor is in there right now so I cannot tell him without Fingon getting suspicious.  I provided him something for the headache, but I also gave him a muscle relaxant. That probably seems very deceptive of me, but they tend to have a calming and relaxing effect, and…I think it will help us all.”

“Alright,” Glorfindel sniffled, and then another flood of tears threatened. “I always loved you, in a certain way, you know.” He spoke the words through his tears. “The times like this when you were so kind to me. I am really happy you are here now, though I have failed to show it. Sorry I am like this, I just--a few things go wrong and then I have to try not to spiral into feeling worthless. It is stupid. I know the thoughts are wrong but then I cannot stop it…” Unexpectedly he sat up and reached for his old lover. “You were always stronger than me.”

“Darling, I crossed the Helcaraxë when I was a child.  I cannot think of anything that could better prepare anyone to deal with Middle-earth than that.”  Gildor coaxed Glorfindel to sit up so that he could wipe his tears away. “I wish I could have been a better person for you all those years ago.  Then again, if I had been a better person, I probably would have kept you for myself.” Gildor tapped Glorfindel’s nose playfully. “You really are the ‘one that got away’ for me, you know that, right?  My problem was I never wanted just one, I wanted a half dozen. Just not all at the same--well, there was that time during the Last Alliance…” he trailed off.

“Me?” Glorfindel whispered. “I know we would not have worked out. I see you and Mae and nothing could be more perfect. You both are like two halves of one person, rolled up...wait, that...please disregard. I remember fondly the fun times we had. Including the erotic parts,” he chuckled a little through his sniffles. “Oh, listen to me. We each found a home for our hearts. That is more than some ever manage. I...I do not quite know how to say it. I like the person you are now. Whatever efforts you have made, it shows, and it warms my heart.”

“This reminds me of something I overheard Mae Mae telling Fingon earlier today,” said Gildor.  “It has to do with change and growth. I think most of us--you, me, Mae Mae, Erri, heck, even Asfaloth--we are all growing and changing and maybe even reverting a little, and I am not going to act as if everything is exactly as it should be, but I feel we are on the path to being the best each of us can be, and the most true to ourselves.  And Fingon…” Gildor held up his hands. “I wish I could count him among the rest of us, but the reality of the situation is that he is very rooted in his past and like a sleepy old ent, he does not want to move forward. Or perhaps, he does not know how.”

“I love him so much. I would do anything to help him. Including not help him,” Glorfindel lamented, still feeling he had made a fiasco of the evening. “I did not think of what you said. That is hard for me to understand but I will do my best.”

“I think that the best course of action is to simply ask him ‘why?’ every time he insists something.  And then to ask that question again of the answer. And again of that answer. Eventually, he will reveal to us how deeply rooted he is about something, and there are things he does or says that I doubt he directly knows the cause.”  Gildor put an arm around Glorfindel and pulled himself just a smidge closer. “I think he is afraid to move forward, and I do not think he even knows where that fear comes from. I think he believes he needs to keep up a certain appearance for others, and I think there are rituals he has had that go back to who knows when, probably before you and I were born, that he believes he needs to keep up with.  Someone needs to question everything he does and thinks he believes, but they need to do it in a way that will make him analyze himself.”

“I could do that. I think. Honestly this sounds like an Erestor skill but I promised him I would try and I will. I have to be able to do something right besides sex,” he lamented, beginning to fret again. “Is Fingon asleep?”

“No, I doubt he is.  He is probably going to be…very relaxed,” said Gildor.  “Now, as for the questioning part, no offense, but I am the expert, and in the long run, if he gets mad about it, better he get mad at me than you.  You have a lot of talents, and though I agree that you are a sexual champion, I am sure there are other things you are doing right. If you want to help Fingon, I would suggest being the counter to when he starts to speak negatively about himself.  Be the person who encourages him when he is stepping outside of his comfort zone. I think you will find that to be a very successful and easy way to help him.”

“I already try to do that. We both do, for each other, because Eru knows we struggle to do it for ourselves. I will go to him as soon as I feel pulled together.”

“No rush.  Erestor is with him, and honestly, by now, he is probably feeling really, really good,” Gildor assured Glorfindel.  “Take your time. He is probably tasting colors and seeing pleasant hallucinations by now.”

“Thank you,” Glorfindel said, simply enjoying being held by Gildor. It felt like long ago, when things were more complicated and yet simpler, too. “Thank you for helping him. And me. This is...nice. With you. Which makes me fear being insulting, when I ask if you mind my going to my mates. I do not want you to feel slighted.”

Gildor laughed softly and kissed Glorfindel’s cheek.  “I am here in a mostly clinical capacity--though, for you, you get a little something extra,” he said affectionately.  “Come on. What I gave him should act quickly. He might have a slight bit of confusion come morning, but I felt it was worth it, all things considered.”

Glorfindel walked down the hall with a watchful Gildor ensuring he made it well enough to the library door--which opened to admit him, and shut behind him quietly. Erestor was already there, lying next to Fingon. Fingon had a pleased and sleepy grin on his face, quite different from what Glorfindel had seen when he departed. “How are you, love?” Glorfindel asked quietly, moving to sit behind Erestor who patted his hand on the mattress.

A long and slender yet muscular arm rose up and with a slight pout, Fingon pointed his finger accusingly at Gildor, who had taken up the rear and was lighting a few additional candles.  “You tricked me,” he said, but his voice was soft and drowsy, and he made a little noise in the back of his throat, like an irritated cat.

“No, no,” countered Gildor gently.  “I did exactly as you asked me to.”

Fingon’s arm was still extended, though he was reaching out now and closing his fingers slowly as if trying to catch something.  “Your words are too fast. They keep flying around and around and making me dizzy.”

“Close your eyes,” suggested Gildor.  Fingon did so, but continued to reach for things until Gildor came over and stuck a wadded up handkerchief into Fingon’s hand, and then helped him lower it down.  “Which one did you catch?” he asked as he stooped down to check Fingon’s pulse and feel his head with the back of his hand.

“The slow one,” replied Fingon in a slurred voice.

“Well, keep hold of it, you know how they like to fly away,” Gildor said.  Fingon moved his other hand so that he was keeping the handkerchief between both hands.  Gildor looked up at Glorfindel and Erestor. “I think I misjudged his weight a tiny bit. He has a big frame, but I never really realized how light he is.”

“A tiny bit?” Glorfindel questioned, worried. “I hope that means, ‘not an emergency, tiny bit.’ But…I trust you, and you do not sound terribly alarmed. Yes, he is indeed lithe--but he is solid muscle.”

“He trains almost daily,” Erestor added. “We have actually been able to get some weight on him. To my eyes, he is now in better flesh.” Constantly Erestor’s hands smoothed their way down Fingon’s arm or head. “I am very fortunate to have two such beautiful lovers.”

“Could he have tea or...something, before he passes out?” Glorfindel asked Gildor. “I do not want him waking up dehydrated and miserable.” Without really waiting for an answer, he leaned down to kiss Fingon very gently. “Love, would you like that? Some tea?”

“Actually, give him a few minutes,” whispered Gildor, and he motioned at Glorfindel until he looked up.  Since Fingon’s eyes were still closed, Gildor mouthed to them not to feed Fingon anything for a little while so that he did not throw up.  “I am sure it will take a little while to get water on for tea, and then, we can all have some tea,” Gildor said, and Fingon giggled. Gildor looked down.  “Well, that was an odd sound.”

Erestor bit his lip, determined not to laugh at his overly relaxed lover.  “It was a delightful sound,” he said, relief in his voice as he stroked Fingon’s arm from shoulder to elbow.  “Perhaps you can make the tea, because we all know I should not.”

“I can do that,” Glorfindel replied with gratitude. “Maybe we can all go down when the food or tea is ready. I know Ress needs to eat and while I do not want to leave him alone, Fingon likes the quiet, too. Thank you so much, Gildor.” He blushed again, for he had almost instinctively blown him a kiss.

Erestor reached out to squeeze Gildor’s hand.  “Yes. Thank you.” He sighed. “Thank you so much for being here for us.  I--I know I have already said this, but I am so sorry for--”

“Erri.  Come here.”  Gildor spread his arms out, and Erestor smiled and crawled carefully over Fingon so that he could hug Gildor.  “I want to let bygones be bygones,” he said at they embraced. “I want us to move forward. I want… ooo, what is… oh, you smell really good,” Gildor declared, and he buried his nose further into Erestor’s hair.  “What is that?”

“Uhm… bergamot, lavender, and patchouli,” answered Erestor.  “It, uh, it is not my hair, but I guess it rubbed off. It was from the scarf I wore today,” he explained.  “One of my coworkers had some perfume she uses on hers and she put some on mine.”

“I want to smell.”  Fingon, who had been lying quite still, was now sitting himself up by hoisting himself up with an arm over Erestor’s shoulder.  Before anyone could stop him, he had his arms draped over Erestor and Gildor, and was sniffing Erestor’s hair. “That is n--oww!”

Gildor pulled back as well, for Fingon had clonked into him, nose to nose.  “Maybe we should get you back down again,” suggested Gildor as he peeled Fingon’s arms off of himself and Erestor.  “Uhm, Glorfindel? Assistance, darling?”

“Of course.” Glorfindel did the only sensible thing, and straddled Fingon seductively, kissing him on the mouth as he used the weight of his body and the distraction of his affection to lower Fingon back to the pillows. He responded with surprising eagerness, if also a near total lack of coordination. “Good boy,” murmured Glorfindel, definitely taking his time with the kissing.

“I want to do that,” Erestor whined plaintively.

Glorfindel rose up, giving Fingon a last peck. “I love you enough to grant you anything you wish, Ress. Your Káno awaits.” Moving aside brought him to Gildor, who he shyly kissed on the cheek. He felt drawn to Gildor more than usual tonight, and knew that it was acceptable to show him affection.

If Gildor was surprised, he did not show it.  In fact, he nuzzled at Glorfindel while Erestor continued with Fingon what Glorfindel started.  “I like relaxed FIngon. He seems so, well, relaxed.” Gildor set his hands on Glorfindel’s shoulders.  His fingers found the preferred rhythm he had learned would be most enjoyable to Glorfindel millennia ago, and hoped it was still so.  “You should loosen up, too, dear. You are so tense… mmm, you smell good, too,” remarked Gildor.

Glorfindel stopped fighting himself, and gently reached to tentatively kiss Gildor very lightly on the lips. Certainly, he guessed that Gildor would not object, but still he felt uncertain about many things--including Maedhros’ feelings on the matter. That part still caused a great deal of worry, for statements made during moments of objective discourse could feel very different when one saw one’s lover with another. He ought to know.

In the state that Fingon was in, he made no attempt to remove his or Erestor’s clothing, and in fact, could only keep his hands lifted to touch Erestor’s face for brief periods of time before having to rest them at his sides.  His lips kept moving; sometimes the reaction was delayed as he and Erestor showed affection to each other, making it all a bit sloppy. The two of them knew that they were not quite matching up at times, but enjoyed the playfulness of the interaction, and shared a snicker or a chuckle now and then.

Gildor, on the other hand, took Glorfindel’s kiss as invitation for something more.  HIs fingers danced along the hem of Glorfindel’s tunic. “Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?” he whispered.

“Gildor, I…” Glorfindel looked down, a little ashamed. “I worry about Maedhros. I do not want to give offense. I like him too much for that.  I know what he said, but…” He bit his lip, stroking the fingers moving along his clothing. “I want to…” The terrible anxiety was starting in again, why had he said anything? Frozen, he leaned his forehead against Gildor’s shoulder, wondering what he could possibly do now.

Gildor said nothing as he petted the golden hair and appeared deep in thought.  He was quiet for a little while, though Fingon and Erestor made up for it nearby with their snogging.  Finally, Gildor said, “He will be up in a moment.”

Glorfindel’s eyes widened, and now he doubly was unable to move. He focused most of his mind on keeping his distress from his mates, who obviously were enjoying themselves. He felt he could not move, and clung to Gildor in something like terror. Closing his eyes seemed like the best thing. Then if he were punched for his audacity at least he would not have to see it coming. Another part of him knew these fears were stupid. Irrational. But he could not rid himself of them regardless.

Before Gildor could offer a reaction to Glorfindel’s sudden change in emotions, Maedhros entered the room without warning.  He was wearing one of the aprons from the kitchen, left there from a time past, and it was obviously too small for his form, for it only just barely was tied in the back.  He was shirtless from the heat in the kitchen, but did have trousers on, so the top of the apron was framed by his bare chest. “Oh. Is this all?”

“Is this all?”  Gildor lifted a brow.

“You said it was important,” Maedhros stated.  

“This is important.”  Gildor sighed. “He thinks you are going to kill him or something?”

Glorfindel trembled involuntarily, feeling even more ashamed. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Why would I do that?”  Maedhros wiped his hands on the apron and closed the door so that he could raise his voice, as Erestor and Fingon were getting a bit more vocal.  “I thought we talked about this. As long as no one accidentally sticks a dick in someone else, we--oh, stop giving me that look,” scolded Maedhros.

“You make it sound like I am going to poke him in the eye with it,” grumbled Gildor.

“Well, do not stick it there, either!” Maedhros had to stop to laugh before he could continue.  “A dick in the eye is the last thing anyone needs.”

“Two dicks in the eye would be worse,” Gildor reasoned.

“There is no room for one let alone--no, I know what you are going to suggest,” Maedhros warned.  “Dicks must stay away from eyes. Fact. Done. Anything else?”

“Please tell him you are not going to kill him,” begged Gildor.

“If he puts his dick in your eye I might.”  Maedhros coughed as he realized the look Gildor was giving him meant playtime was over.  “Glorfindel, I trust you.”

Glorfindel, if only because Gildor’s insistent fingers were forcibly lifting his chin to make eye contact, now met Maedhros’ gaze and saw only humor there. Swallowing hard, he nodded dumbly and gradually found himself staring at Gildor. “Are you sure you want to have escapades with the biggest coward in Arda?” he whispered.

“Oh, of course he does,” answered Maedhros.  “He and I have such adventures together everywhere.  Oh, wait, you meant, not me. Which is inaccurate. You get to be the balrog slayer.  I lay claim to the titles of idiot and coward.”

“Stop it, the both of you,” Gildor said.  “You, back to the kitchen. You…just on your back,” Gildor decided as he gently pushed Glorfindel onto the floor.

Glorfindel did not resist, but he made a mental note to ask later what that could possibly mean. Maedhros had survived Angband. How could he be either of those things? There was no time to consider that, though, for Gildor moved over him and kissed him deeply. This was memory, and familiar. Like slipping on a once-beloved article of clothing, Glorfindel returned what Gildor gave, measure for measure.

“Oh, this is going to be so good this time…so nice,” murmured Gildor as he scrambled to get hold of the edge of Glorfindel’s shirt so that he could pull it up and over his head.  “This time I am not trying to get back at Erestor and I can love you just because I love you. Not that I did not love you then, but I was certainly using you at times, and I need to shut my face,” said Gildor, and he returned to kissing Glorfindel hungrily, hoping he did not just ruin things before they started.

None of that bothered the blond, for it was all truth he had already known to some extent or other. He had not ever believed they might be doing this again and...he tried hard to shut up his mind and consider only that Gildor loved him.  _ Still loved him? Loved him in some new manner? _ He found he could not care.

Meanwhile, Fingon was practically left at Erestor’s mercy.  While his mind was aware yet very relaxed, his body was limp and his limbs felt too heavy to lift.  “Guess you found my weakness,” he said as he tried to lift an arm and was only able to turn it to the side.

“I like this,” Erestor grinned. “I mean, not for everyday, but right now? I like this very much. Your headache is gone, though, is it not?” he fretted a little. 

“What headache?” asked Fingon.  “Oh… right. No. Gone,” he answered.

“Mmmm, all my dreams are coming true,” the dark one said wickedly. “May I make love to you, husband?” he drawled, peppering Fingon’s cheeks and the edges of his lips with little kisses. Spidery fingers worked their way inside of the hem of his tunic, ghosting over the taut abdomen. His own arousal pulsed with want for the precious spot he hoped would wish to welcome him.

Fingon groaned as he felt Erestor’s fingertips upon him.  “Have I any other option than to submit myself to you?” With what small amount of control he had, Fingon spread his legs so that there would be no doubt as to his expectations.

In the hallway, Maedhros had only just been about to shut the door when he heard Fingon’s words.  He peeked back in with curiosity and shook his head. To see his cousin and one-time lover so eager for something he had once been adamantly against still seemed unbelievable.  Maedhros considered staying, but he knew that would eventually cause someone else to come up, and he made his way back down, thoughts of his own needs and desires being questioned in his mind as he returned to the kitchen.

“Of course you have a choice,” Erestor said, a little more seriously. “If you ever did not wish this, I would stop. But I am interpreting your words and actions to mean I am welcome.” With that, he helped ease Fingon out of his shirt, and then his own came off. Next came his own breeches, all the better to enjoy the final disrobing of Fingon. Right after he spent enough time teasing and rubbing him through the fabric. Erestor wasted no time beginning to feast on this opportunity for unrestricted foreplay of which he could be the sole director. He glanced over to see what Fin was doing. Or more accurately, what Gildor was doing to Fin. For a moment he paused, smiling. Genuinely, he did not mind. More than that, he felt a sense of peace, for he knew what they had shared and for how long. And he had some inkling that he, too, would likely be under Gildor, at some future time. Just now, though, it was not his chief concern. A curious tongue saw Fingon’s navel, and decided that was just the place to begin tasting the pale skin.

“I was trying to be poet--uhhnn...ahh...ohh…”  Fingon wanted to arch his body up, but control of his form was not his.  His mind was still keen to what was going on, but so much less burdened by anything that was not going on in this room right now.  Even trembling was off the list of possibilities, and Fingon closed his eyes, for somehow colors were brighter and sounds were merrier with his eyes shut.  The scent from Erestor blanketed him, twisting around his limbs like insistent vines creeping up around him, and there was music somewhere in the background even though there was obviously not.  Fingon moaned and tried to reach out for Erestor, though he knew that no matter how much he felt he was getting closer, his limbs remained unmoving. “I want more,” was all he could convey.

_ You can talk to me this way, too,  _ Erestor noted. His tongue had delved the navel, and now his mouth nipped and lapped toward one of the nipples. He latched on and suckled, one hand drifting to Fingon’s crotch. A hardening swelling greeted his fingers, which idly danced around the arousal. After indulging himself there a short while, he lifted hips to remove the (thankfully) loose fitting pants. Immediately his mouth descended on the erection, unable to resist the desire to taste his lover.

Glorfindel found himself responding more ardently to Gildor’s advances than he originally anticipated. That was when he began to try to recall how they used to satisfy each other, when intercourse was not an option. Mouths were nice. So were hands. As ever, he would let Gildor decide. He had rarely ever been disappointed, especially in their later years. Recent conversation also came to mind, and he frowned. Did anyone keep toys in this library? For Gildor had made it clear that he deeply craved penetration, and even had it been an option for him to assume that role, he knew that what he had to offer would barely register by comparison to Maedhros’ endowment. He knew who  _ would _ know the answer, though.

_ Ress, Káno...I need to hear your final consent for my seeking pleasure with Gildor, so that I am certain. If you indeed grant that to me, I also really need a phallus if I am to provide him with what he most enjoys...help?  _ He paused for a moment.  _ What I want most of all is to watch my two lovers with each other. Straining, teasing, touching. I want to know if we could come over there. I want to know if Fingon could be in my mouth while Ress drives deep into him.  _

A soft whimper came from Fingon.  He tried to nod his head, but it just lolled around.  “Yes. Yes, please.” He knew he was supposed to answer Glorfindel with something meaningful, but all he seemed to be able to think about was the request Glorfindel issued.   _ Eres, do you remember the things we used to use when it was just the two of us?  Are those still here? Did you move them? _

Erestor nodded and stood up.   _ Yes.  We have some, um, toys.   _ For a moment, Erestor spun around, and then snapped his fingers and went to the bottom shelf of a bookcase.  He knelt down and carefully removed the volumes so that he could lift up the loose shelf panel. From the hollow spot he lifted up a wooden box and blew off the dust.  “Found it!” he announced as he walked back. “Oh... “ Erestor chuckled as he walked back and conveyed to Glorfindel while Fingon listened in,  _ Fingon brought these home one day, and I asked him what they were for, and he said ‘not for me’, but now, I think they could be.   _ There was a sparkle in his eyes as he knelt back down and opened the box.  “Which one,” he mused, and then he happily added, “I still have some oil in here.  Hmm… should I show you which one I am thinking, or just surprise you?” purred Erestor, and Fingon groaned.

“Someone seems to be enjoying himself,” Gildor teased.  He traced his finger along Glorfindel’s waistline, toying with the idea of stripping him further.  “Are you? Enjoying yourself?” he asked, sensing some hesitation from Glorfindel.

“I am,” Glorfindel smiled, now feeling sure of the consent of all those concerned. “Forgive me. Maedhros’ explicit permission was not the only one I needed to hear. Now I feel at peace. I always liked it when you kissed me. I liked most everything you did to me,” he provoked, reaching to stroke Gildor’s arm.

“Kissing is a good start,” agreed Gildor as he leaned in to join lips with Glorfindel once again.  “So is getting rid of--what the…” Gildor craned his neck to look around Glorfindel at what Erestor was holding.  “What is that and why are you not sharing?”

Slowly, Erestor turned his head, holding a very long object in his hand.  It was shiny and black, and while one end was very representative of an erect penis, the other was long yet bumpy, patterned like clustered grapes.  “What, this old thing?” he asked.

“Too much for me,” voiced Fingon with sudden concern as he caught sight of how long the entire object was.

Gildor turned slightly and wiggled his butt.  “I have a place for that,” he declared. “Wait--is that galvorn?”

“It is,” confirmed Erestor.

Gildor sat back down on the floor.  “It is not going to start talking to me in the middle of sex, is it?  Legitimate concern, you know.”

“It will not talk to you,” Erestor said told him.  “This is a particular favorite of mine. I like the shape--and the color--but what I also like about it is how it captures and holds the heat or cold.  If I rub it between my hands, it warms and stays that way for several hours. The same happens if it is dipped in cold water. It can produce some very nice sensations,” teased Erestor.  “See how this is asymmetrical here?” he asked, and a mesmerized Gildor nodded. “Just imagine how nice it feels when it is slowly inserted and twisted, and how someone might writhe if it is hard and cool.”

“I asked Ress to have something for you,” Glorfindel told Gildor, turning to lean his head on his elbow. His free hand traced tiny circles and patterns on Gildor’s bare feet. “I know what you like, and would not be so discourteous as to fail to see to your pleasure in an allowable manner. But we are not really to that point yet, are we?” The invitation in his voice could not be mistaken, and Glorfindel suppressed a smile at the expression of purest yearning that appeared on Gildor’s face. No one would ever accuse Inglorion of pretense.

“You are going to make me wait?” Gildor looked thoroughly unhappy at the prospect.  “You claim to know my needs, and yet you know I am not a patient man.” Gildor was already unbuckling his own belt.  “How do you want me?” he asked, but the question was directed toward Erestor, who was suggestively stroking the phallus.  Beneath him, Fingon watched and listened, and felt the room spin in a delightfully disorienting way.

“Sweetie,” Glorfindel chuckled. “I am not going to make you wait. But, you keep talking and your pants are still on. So are mine, for that matter. I thought perhaps you would want to do something about that. We will join them. But first you will kiss me, and I will kiss you.” In a flash Glorfindel was on his knees, grabbing and holding Gildor’s head by a fistful of hair and roughly pressing a demanding tongue between his lips while grinding his groin against Gildor’s. He had watched what Maedhros did, and how Gildor favorably responded to different kinds of roughness. To him this was less lovemaking and more role playing. Raw sex. It had been a long time since he had taken a lover in his arms solely for physical pleasure with less emotional attachment--and the idea oddly excited him. This was someone for whom he felt love. Gratitude. But not the love he felt for his husbands.

“Fuck yes,” mumbled Gildor as soon as they broke for air.  He gave Glorfindel a playful smack on the shoulder. “Why did you never do that when we were…well, nevermind…again…please,” Gildor begged, swirling a finger around in a nonsense pattern on Glorfindel’s chest.

  
“Like this?” He used his significant upper body strength and the grip on Gildor’s hair to propel him to the mattress, where he immediately pinned him down and continue to plunder him in a demanding fashion. A hard grip with his thighs, though, prevented any contact between their groins. Glorfindel knew Gildor wanted it, and did not intend to give him everything at once. Not, at least, without a challenge.

“Even better,” moaned Gildor.  He struggled to press against Glorfindel, but it was futile.  While Gildor was by no means weak, Glorfindel spent more time riding, working the fields, and training with Fingon, and it showed.  “Delicious agony,” Gildor purred. “Give me more.”

“Such a demanding creature you are,” Glorfindel smiled. “How could I have forgotten?” Not being unobservant, Glorfindel knew there was only one reliable means of silencing him, and that was to fill his mouth. He wondered how much Gildor would want, and decided to find out. Adept fingers unclasped his belt, and worked his own trousers down to where he could easily be exposed if Gildor wished it. Then he turned his body and settled himself in a position that placed his hips near Gildor’s head, proceeding to slowly edge his fingers around Gildor’s waist, disrobing him a tiny bit at a time. Kisses were peppered below his navel, touches were generously offered--everywhere except where Gildor most wanted to be touched.

Gildor reached up without invitation to tug at the fabric that obstructed his ability to see and touch Glorfindel.  “Gimme,” he demanded greedily, his hands fumbling in his awkward position to gain what he wanted.

Meanwhile, Fingon, who had been watching, gave a little huff of a chuckle.  “We are like red and indigo,” he muttered.

“Red and what?”  Gildor only paused momentarily.

“Indigo.  Both ends of the rainbow.”

“I believe he means that in regards to how thoroughly energetic you become when someone promises you cock, and how he just flinched at the sound of the word,” explained Erestor.

“And yet, the irony,” Gildor said as his eyes fell upon the length of Fingon’s erection. His cheeks colored a little. “I want to...I wonder if I would be allowed...I mean it really is the most amazing thing, even Mae Mae would have to admit...and I do so like to...but I am afraid you would deck me and then throw me out of the room--not necessarily in that order--so I guess I am hoping that...but fuck me I think I have finally found something related to penises that actually intimidates me and--”

“Gildor for pity’s sake, if you want to suck on his cock just ask him. Actually, I just did it for you. He may say no, and if he does it will have nothing to do with you. While I recognize I have far less to offer, at least you will get to suck on something regardless. Now stop blushing, it is not like you,” Glorfindel scolded mildly.

“What I really want to do is play out the fairy story of the goats on the bridge with the--nevermind.  Simplify,” Gildor self-scolded now. “I want to suck on all of the cocks, from yours to Fingons, with Erestor in the middle.”

Erestor looked down at Fingon.  “What say you, great king?” he asked.

Fingon blinked slowly.  “I think I am indigo, and you are green, and Glorfindel is gold, and Maedhros is blue.”

Gildor bit his bottom lip.  “I definitely gave him too much,” he whispered apologetically.

“Well, for next time we know. This was not deliberate,” Erestor encouraged. “And while we wait for clarity from Fingon, know that for my part I would welcome your attentions. I...do not take this the wrong way, but after all I have learned, there is a part of me that feels it would be healing something over from very long ago.” The dark beauty paused for a moment. “I would willingly reciprocate also, if that is your desire.

“You?”  Gildor sounded both interested and intrigued.  “You used to get huffy when I would poke your face with it, let alone suggest--”

“In my defense, you poked my cheek with your dick to wake me up in the morning,” Erestor recalled.  “As for how I am now, let us just say it has become an acquired taste.”

“Not in my mouth,” said Fingon.  “I do not want to taste the color red.”

“No, none for you, sweetie,” Erestor assured him.  “What about Gildor?”

“Gildor likes them,” Fingon answered.  “Gildor likes them a lot.”

“Yes, he does,” Erestor agreed.  “May he--”

“Sample my cock?” finished Fingon.

Erestor licked his lips.  “Sure,” he said while Glorfindel and Gildor tried not to laugh at the conversation.

Fingon looked back over to Gildor.  “No biting,” was all he said.

“Looks like this is your lucky night,” Glorfindel grinned. “How do you want us, all in a row, or perhaps arranged in a circle?”

Gildor rubbed his chin thoughtfully, much as a connoisseur of fine wines or cheeses might when the prospect of a tasting was at hand. “In a row, I think. That way I can enjoy seeing you exchanging affection while I ply my craft.” He was entirely serious.

Glorfindel shrugged, and wriggled out of his pants fully. “I love to see a man with a plan,” he quipped, lying next to Fingon. If several kisses were placed on Fingon’s body on his way to reclining, he figured that was his prerogative.

Erestor took up residence on the other side of Fingon.  “I feel bad that Maedhros is not here with us,” he said as he nuzzled Fingon and reached across to caress Glorfindel.  

“Sorry to be useless,” Fingon said as he watched his lovers touch each other.

“Oh, honey, you are far from useless,” Gildor declared as he crawled over to examine the buffet before him.  

“True,” Fingon said.  “I am indigo, after all.”

“It is even better than orange, Sweetie,” Erestor confirmed, pausing to kiss Fingon deeply, adding a brush or two to his ears just to keep him fully engaged. “What else are you thinking about?”

“Chocolate covered rose petals,” replied Fingon without much hesitation.  “Also goldfish Turgon and I had as a child that my mother kept in a punchbowl.”

“What was its name?” Erestor wanted to know, nuzzling him. Kisses were peppered on his cheeks, interesting Glorfindel enough to follow suit.

However, just then Gildor’s lips descended on Glorfindel’s intimate anatomy. An audible moan of pleasure escaped from the sheer ecstasy of the warm mouth that engulfed him. “Oh fuuuuuuuck meeeee,” Glorfindel whispered, biting his lip. 

Fingon blinked. “Turgon would never name a fish that,” he insisted. Erestor buried his head in the crook of Fingon’s neck and shook with suppressed laughter.  “What? It is true.”

“I believe you,” Erestor assured Fingon.  “So what was the name of the fish?”

“Good question.  My head is a little foggy,” Fingon said.  “I remember the name of the brother who had the fish.”

“Was it Turgon?” asked Erestor politely.

“It...was.  Did I tell you this story already?”

Erestor smiled and kissed Fingon’s brow.  “I think you did.”

Gildor popped up for a moment.  “Again, I apologize. I promise to measure instead of guess next time.”  He disappeared back down again.

Glorfindel found it necessary to do something with his rising lust, and as Fingon was closest, decided to focus attention on him. “Enough talking,” he murmured, nipping gently at his husband’s lips. 

Erestor pondered his choices, and decided to begin with what was nearby. Since Gildor was not about to need him just yet, he repositioned himself over Fingon to gently nuzzle and lick his lover’s shaft, kissing liberally around the soft sacs as well. This was, he decided, something he should do far more often--the experience intoxicated him. Gildor’s legs and feet were near his own; he lifted his foot to caress them. Talented hands found places to massage and smooth. Soon he felt quite occupied in varied delightful pursuits.

It took little for Gildor to turn his body while remaining latched onto Glorfindel.  He now hooked a leg around Erestor and returned the favors, beginning slowly and working his way up to lightly scraping his fingernails across Erestor’s chest.

Erestor thought for a moment, silently asking Glorfindel for another permission. His own soft smile signalled the answer he received. He grasped Gildor’s hand, and brought the fingers briefly to each damask rose nipple. Inspiration then came anew, causing him to shift positions once again. Borrowing from Fingon’s leaking erection, he coated his fingers liberally and reached over to tease around Gildor’s entrance, while still keeping playful contact with Fingon’s intimate parts. Helpless Fingon produced an incessant stream of delighted moans from Glorfindel’s relentless plundering of his mouth. All was going very well.

“I cannot believe he is letting me do this without him here,” Gildor said after Glorfindel slipped from his mouth during the slight change in positions.  “Mmm, not yet, Erri, I want to taste you first,” Gildor insisted. He crawled around so that he could lie on his side and reach Erestor’s erection. With one hand stretched out to circle around the area Erestor desired, he used the other to massage Erestor’s scrotum.  The tip of Gildor’s tongue traced around the engorged head. A memory flashed in his mind, and he smiled and gave the tip of Erestor’s length a kiss. “Remember that night we were in Gil-galad’s library and you would not come down to the banquet and gave me the ultimatum that you intended not to move from your spot until you finished reading whatever it was you were so intent about?  I am ever so thankful that was a tall table and you wore robes and I have no idea how we lived there with no one suspecting.”

“I had practice in Gondolin,” came the flippant answer before Erestor let out a moan, for Gildor took him into his mouth, and easily all the way.  “I know we have talked about this,” Erestor managed to gasp out in the midst of the marvellous stimulation. “I was an idiot, Gildor. I could have had this long ago and...I will always be sorry. And now I will shut up and not talk about that any longer.” Which lasted all of half a minute. “Right after I say the same to Glorfindel,” Erestor continued, “because he endured my idiocy far longer and with far more suffering on his part. I wish so much could have been different. Now I will shut up.”

Glorfindel rose up from kissing Fingon, smiling down on him. “Do you believe that, love?”

Fingon would have shaken his head if he could.  Instead, he counted down. “Five… four… three--”

“And in all honesty, Fingon, dear Fi--oh, yesss… just like that,” Erestor advised Gildor, reaching down to get a good grip on his hair.  “Twice I ran away from you. Once when you offered me everything that night here years ago, and long before that, when we worked together, and I was with Artanis, and I felt those first yearnings.  I should not have put myself through all these years of torture.”

“Thrice,” Fingon said softly.  “I propositioned you in Beleriand before you disappeared in Gondolin.”

“You...oh.  Oh! Oh, I suppose you did.  I---oh!” Erestor’s attention turned suddenly back to Gildor as the silent one twisted hard on the pebble of skin.  

“Now he will be quiet,” Fingon said with more than a little amusement.  “I have to say, I like this feeling, but I also feel very useless at the moment.”

Gildor finally paused in his laving of Erestor’s erection. “Oh honey, you are not useless. You are the main course.” He blew a kiss in Fingon’s direction.

“Wait, then what was I?” Glorfindel wanted to know.

“Appetizer.”

“I hate to ask,” Erestor mumbled through a battery of soft and pleasured vocalizations. “Wait. First course?”

Gildor’s wolfish grin answered adequately enough.

“Makes me wonder who is dess--oh. I guess there is still time for the missing party to join us,” Glorfindel mused. Shrugging, he returned to deeply kissing Fingon. He had quite possibly never had this much time in control of this mutual activity, and he meant to exploit it to the full extent possible.

On the first floor, it was in that moment that Elrond chose to ask, “Is everything alright upstairs?”

Maedhros, who had been swirling his wine for several minutes and only now realized that when they all retired to the great room to wait for the meal to cook he had poured a glass (hoped no one noticed what he was drinking--mainly, that Asfaloth would not tell on him), he then sat down and offered no conversation to the party assembled.  Asfaloth had managed to carry most of the conversation until now, but it seemed he had run out of topics, and Maedhros cleared his throat. “Yes. Things are fine.”

“Do you think I should go up and check on anything?” asked Elrond.  “I might be able to offer advice.”

Connection still open to Gildor, Maedhros tried very hard not to smirk.  His jaw twitched and he had to drink to keep himself from smiling. “That is very kind, but I think Gildor has the situation in hand.  Under control. No assistance needed. Not at the moment,” Maedhros said quickly as Elrond looked almost hurt.

Catching on quickly, Asfaloth offered, “It is a delicate matter.  Fingon…gets a certain way. I am positive you will be needed! Maybe later.”

Words came to Maedhros mind and he repeated them.  “After dessert.” Then he blushed and drank his wine again.

“Oh!  What are we having for dessert?” asked Celebrían.

Up in the library, Gildor snickered and almost choked.  Erestor had to pat him on the back to assist, and Fingon sounded worried.  “Maybe it would be best if you stop at the first course,” he said.

“No, I…”  Gildor coughed again.  “Tell you later,” he said as he nodded his thanks at Erestor.  “Sorry about that.”

Erestor grinned.  “Glad you are alright.  That was actually oddly flattering.”

Downstairs, Celebrían began to ponder the disappearance of the four housemates. The four homosexual housemates. The four homosexual, polyamorous housemates. An eyebrow twitched, and she absolutely kept her thoughts to herself. “Elrond, dear, they have the most magnificent garden; we passed by some of it on the way to the house. I find I would like to see it. With you. And then I wish to enjoy the nearby water.”

“We live by water,” Elrond noted cautiously.

“This is different water,” his wife insisted, rising. “This is water which is nowhere near my own home and the many chores with which I busy myself all throughout each day. This is water that is next to our friends, with whom we will dine in somewhat over an hour. And next to the water is sand, that I wish to feel under my toes while holding my husband’s hand. My usually busy husband. Yes, that is the husband I mean. We can even bring our wine.”

Maedhros gave a low whistle. “I never contradict a lady who knows what her heart desires,” he advised, fighting down a smirk.

A clicking of knuckles drew their attention. “I could carry both of you,” Asfaloth offered. “I promise I would walk carefully so you would not spill your wine. I mean, if the idea of a stroll on a perfect, beautiful white stallion adds any appeal to the situation.” His large eyes darted nervously back and forth; he expected rejection.

“Magnificent,” Celebrían confirmed with a big smile, dragging a helpless Elrond off of the sofa. “Where was that bottle? I believe we need topping off.”

“Allow me,” Maedhros offered, wondering. Ellith usually managed to figure out everything, in the end. Moments later, horse and couple were out the door, and Maedhros was left holding a nearly empty bottle. Shrugging, he tipped what was left down his throat before wiping his lips and searching out water to hide the lingering aroma of the alcohol. That was when he spied Erestor’s peppermint plant, which apparently was some sort of odd botanical project used as a houseplant. He removed a few tendrils and began chewing on them, wincing at the overly strong taste. Several puffs into his hand later, he deemed that his drinking would go undetected, and gazed in the direction of the stairs.

\---

“Seems as if dessert is ready early,” mused Gildor as he dragged his nails across Erestor’s chest, having just swallowed down Erestor’s copious release.  After licking his lips, Gildor sized up Fingon. “Where to begin…”

“Well.  If you prefer not to dig right in and just want to sample,” said Glorfindel, “you could give a little nibble on his ears.”

“Ears?”  Gildor sat up, resembling a curious meerkat.  

“So cruel,” murmured Fingon.  He made an attempt to move his left arm, but all he managed was to flop his hand the other way.  

“Are you enjoying yourself, though?” asked Erestor with slight worry.

“Thoroughly,” answered Fingon.

It was at that moment that the door opened.  “You should really lock this,” Maedhros said, and he took care of that as soon as the door was shut.  “Everyone else went for a walk, so I expect we have just under an hour before they return.”

“Plenty of time,” Gildor declared.

Glorfindel felt that he had never quite been observant of Maedhros’ physical presence before, for despite the assurances he felt a small awkwardness creeping over him again. Without meaning to, he found himself staring at Maedhros, admiring the beautiful mane of incomparable hair. Then, catching himself, he lowered his eyes, confused. 

_ You do not have to be afraid, Fin,  _ Erestor told him, finding the strength in his afterglow to reach for Glorfindel’s arm.  _ You are more in every way. _

The sea green eyes lifted to Erestor’s. He really did not understand how, so he curled up next to Fingon, holding his hand. At least here he could watch Gildor. Except, that did not work at all.

Maedhros stripped off his clothing with surprising alacrity, and moved up behind Glorfindel. No words were spoken, but he took the blond ellon into his arms. Just...holding him, rocking him. At first Glorfindel felt stunned. Lost, and a little afraid. Eventually he found the courage to look up, and saw only friendliness in the gray eyes that watched him. After what seemed like several minutes, he turned in Maedhros’ arms, and wrapped his own arms around the broad chest as if he were a small child. Maedhros held onto Glorfindel with his right arm, while his left hand stroked the golden hair. 

“Thank you,” Erestor told Gildor quietly, guessing what had happened. Maedhros nodded, though it was barely perceptible. Gildor, for his part, had spent the time assessing the glorious object resting across Fingon’s belly, pondering how best to enjoy himself. 

_ He likes his balls caressed,  _ Maedhros suggested with a grin.  _ The ears will gain you a mouthful almost immediately. And I do mean a mouthful.  _

Both Gildor’s eyebrows raised. A little whine escaped, from having too many choices. Erestor felt he should contribute something, and for a few moments decided to indulge himself in returning the favor to Gildor. Glorfindel watched from his resting spot with something between envy and fascination.

“Gildor is not the only one who likes to indulge in appetizers,” Maedhros said to Glorfindel after it was evident that the other three were more than involved with each other.  “I am not so bold as to assume that there might be something left on the plate for me,” he said carefully.

“Fin thinks you are utterly beautiful, Maedhros, but he is too fearful to initiate with you. But I can tell you now, he would not reject your advance. He is so aroused it hurts,” Erestor informed.

“Ress!” Glorfindel exclaimed, blushing beet red.

“Lover, you will thank me later. There are only friends here, Fin.”

Maedhros raised an eyebrow and caught Glorfindel’s chin in his hand. Gently, but firmly, he raised Glorfindel’s head to meet his eyes. “Is he right?”

Glorfindel seemed almost at the edge of tears, fighting for control of his embarrassment and shyness. But it never occurred to him to even try to dissemble, so he nodded.

Carefully, as though he feared spooking prey, Maedhros tilted his head down and softly met Glorfindel’s lips. “You would allow me to touch you? I believe Erestor, but I need to hear it from you.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel whimpered, mostly beside himself with desire and apprehension. 

Gildor sighed, and for a moment broke away from gently suckling on Fingon’s heavy sac. “Glorfindel. Mae knows every memory I have of my years with you. Of every time I loved you, and how I felt. You are not afraid of me. You do not need to be afraid of him. He is not going to hurt you. Can you not see the way he looks at you? I do. I am not the only one who would like to know everyone better. The only difference is that I cannot shut my mouth, and Mae Mae does not need to blather his heart out into the room. Now relax, that is an order.” For good measure, Gildor briefly but indulgently took Glorfindel’s erection into his mouth, eliciting a cry of want. Then he returned to Fingon.

The use of the word ‘hurt’ made Fingon cringe a little, and during the short time that Gildor stopped attending to him, he swallowed hard, shifted his head to the side so that he could see Maedhros, and said, “I feel that is my fault, that Glorfindel should fear you in some way.  Neither of us is without fault for how things have been, but I--”

“Shh.”  Maedhros leaned over Glorfindel and kissed Fingon to shut him up.  “Let it all go, Fingon. I never intended to hurt you, but I did. I only wanted to love you, but I was guided and influenced by negativity and some rotten advice.  We could go on about this all night, but I think we both just want to move forward.” Maedhros waited for the confirming nod from Fingon. He then looked at Glorfindel and said, “Your flattery is appreciated, but I am skeptical that one so handsome, blessed with such perpetually youthful features and gorgeous hair would find something attractive about me, but, I thank you for being so kind.  You are lovely, both inside and out. It delights me to be in your company in this way.”

“Not flattering,” Glorfindel said, now feeling almost a little upset. “Beautiful. Like a lion. I can see it. Why are you unable to?” A stray tear was brushed aside. Leaning in, Glorfindel kissed Maedhros on the cheek, for that was the extent of the boldness he felt he could manage. Gildor, not having heard so many of the exquisitely personal and blunt things Glorfindel occasionally said, blinked in surprise. He had never been so grateful toward Glorfindel as at that moment. Maedhros did not really believe him, in this way. Coming from Glorfindel, though...the words were said with an almost childish petulance and a raw honesty.

For a moment, Maedhros said nothing.  Then his gaze drifted to his right arm, and the stump at the end, and he said, “It is hard to find anyone who thinks a lion with three paws is beautiful or majestic.”  As Maedhros said these words, Fingon closed his eyes and sighed. “I am not blaming you for it,” Maedhros added as he looked now at Fingon. “It simply is my reality.”

“Look around you,” Glorfindel demanded, embers catching fire in his eyes. The sudden aggression surprised Maedhros very much. “I will not speak for Gildor, but everyone else in this room was shattered and cobbled back together again. Do I need to hack off a hand or a foot to make you believe that the wounds that matter are the ones we carry on the inside? Here?” Glorfindel tapped over his heart, tears forming in his eyes. “For I would do it gladly, if that is what it takes to get through to you. You are among the most beautiful men I have ever laid eyes on. I do not look at your missing hand. I do not even think about your missing hand. It is of no importance to me at all, though I am aware its loss is a source of trials for you. I wish you could just...stop it. I wish I could stop it. I wish Fingon could stop it. Of all of us, I feel like Erestor has grown the most and...and…” His ire spent, he now looked away. “And now you probably hate me for what I said. That is what happens to me now. I get angry. I say things out of pain or upset. I want to tell you I am sorry except that I am not sure I can fully regret speaking what I believe is true.” He curled his knees up underneath his chin. “I am sorry for ruining the mood,” issued forth despondently.

Maedhros plunged his hand into his thick red hair and scratched his head.  “No, you ruined nothing. You are just speaking the truth; the same truth I refuse to believe when it issues forth from Gildor’s lips.  I think…” Maedhros took a deep breath. “I think I just believe I deserve this, and it serves as a penalty for every wrong decision I made to that point.  I thought renouncing the crown, and trying to fight off Morgoth, and everything else was somehow going to make everything right again. And… make this right again,” he added as he held up his right arm.  

Carefully, Erestor said, “We can show we have changed by our actions, but we must truly ask, with heart and mind, if we seek forgiveness.”

Gildor sat up uneasily.  Try though he might, ever since the discussion became serious, Gildor was unable to keep Fingon hard.  In fact, he looked around and realized he was the only person who still had an erection, and lazily played with himself as he awaited the resolution to the conversation.

“Maybe we could speak on that matter later,” suggested Maedhros as he picked up straying thoughts from Gildor.  Tentatively, Maedhros touched Glorfindel’s shoulder. “If you think me beautiful, then I believe you,” he said softly.

Some flowers unfold their petals in the presence of light, and in like manner Glorfindel transformed from his dour bearing. He shifted his body to turn toward Maedhros again, a soft smile on his face. With genuine eagerness, he raised up on his knees and wove a hand into the glorious red hair, finding the back of his neck. Richly colored lips brushed against Maedhros’ mouth. The tip of a questing tongue asked for more. Glorfindel received a happy surprise when Maedhros did not yield to him but instead deepened the kiss himself. This was more than Glorfindel had hoped for, and a lust-laden moan resonated in the room. Eagerly he twined tongues, and felt his shaft harden even further. His hands roamed Maedhros’ chest and arms.

Fingon was unprepared for the sheer eroticism of seeing his current husband kissing his former husband. “Uhnnnn,” he groaned, as a renewed stirring began within him. 

“Are they not sexy together?” Erestor smiled, also appreciating the sight. “Do not think I am done with you,” he whispered to Fingon. “I want to fuck you until you burst.”

Gildor, quite happy with the new developments, had managed to prepare a script. “Erri, if we turn Fingon on his side, and place pillows here and here,” he mused as he pointed, “then you can do as you wish and I could have the benefit. I mean, here I desperately want to see how much of him I can manage and...I think it is what could be called a win-win?”

The hopeful thoughts that Fingon’s mind emitted spared Erestor the trouble of needing to ask his opinion on the matter. Quite swiftly, the two of them had the blissfully limp elf repositioned. Erestor happily used his oiled fingers, and with equal satisfaction with the circumstance Gildor had the sizable shaft down his throat, humming his glee. 

Occasionally Gildor came up for air and to relax his jaw. “Superlative,” he declared. “Mae Mae, is he not beautiful? Your tales of his magnificence almost could not do justice.”

Maedhros blushed a little, realizing that his garrulous spouse was inadvertently passing on favorable words about Fingon that he had never actually spoken to the subject of those sentiments. He nodded, and murmured something like “MmmmHmmmm,” generally hoping that Fingon was too drugged to catch what had been said.

Paying careful attention to Fingon’s thought, Erestor knew when his husband was ready for him. Fingers gave way to Erestor’s arousal slowly pushing into him. Involuntarily, a twitch caused Fingon to thrust deeper into Gildor’s throat. Glorfindel had pleasured him like this before, but not in the manner Gildor was managing.

Maedhros reached around to give Glorfindel’s rear a squeeze.  “You are delightful,” he said between kisses. “I wish we had all considered this course of action the last time we visited.  It seems we are doing a good job making up for lost time, though.” Maedhros, being the tallest among them, and Glorfindel the shortest, did his best to adjust them as well as he could.  His solution was to roll Glorfindel on his back and to draw his own knees in while covering himself over Glorfindel’s body. The kissing resumed until Maedhros felt something warm and sticky and looked down to see the dark discharge from Glorfindel.

“I am sorry,” Glorfindel apologized as he figured out why Maedhros paused. He tried to wriggle away in shame, but Maedhros was large and kept him in place.

“You think a little blood is going to upset me?” asked Maedhros.  “As long as you are alright…?”

“Wonderful,” replied Glorfindel as he pulled Maedhros closer by the tendrils of red hair hanging down.  “You are such a good kisser,” he revealed before he could stop himself.

Maedhros grinned.  “Who do you think taught Fingon?”

The sun-kissed cheeks flushed with enjoyment at the idea, and Glorfindel once again relaxed in Maedhros’ arms. He could not help but like that he felt secure here, just as he did in Fingon’s embrace. “Then I have you to thank, because...well now I know. Please, more?” Still he felt some surprise that he had not been rejected on account of his unusual anatomy. It was different when it was not someone to whom he was married...and at first even that had been intimidating enough. It was impossible not to have a little hint of envy, toward Gildor. His Maedhros was deeply impressive. A lock of the red hair was pulled near him, so he could smell the distinct and masculine scent. “So nice,” he breathed, only half-aware of what he was saying.

“Oh, stop,” Maedhros said shyly.  “You keep making me feel pretty.”

“Someone should!”

Erestor laughed as he heard both Fingon and Gildor say the words simultaneously.  The laughter became contagious, and even Maedhros chuckled a little. “Forget Lúthien,” remarked Erestor as he reached around to touch each of the others in turn.  “I am surrounded by the most desirable Elves in all of Elvendom.”

“As you should be,” Gildor said.  A moment later, he took Fingon deep again, earning him a gasp of pleasure and even a slight buck of Fingon’s hips.

“Mmm,” Erestor noted languidly. “It seems I should pay more attention to the task at hand.” Adjusting himself until he found a position that allowed him to fully spoon against Fingon, he wrapped his long limbs around whatever was deemed necessary in order to have a means to thrust into his lover. He was not hurried, but instead wanted to relish the sensations both physical and mental. The best part of it, not that he would mention this aloud, was the secondhand experience of Fingon’s unusually high level of enjoyment. Relaxed beyond what would ordinarily be possible, he had not a care in the world. Gildor’s extreme skills in this discipline certainly did no harm, either. From time to time Erestor’s hand traveled to caress the flaxen head.

Meanwhile, Maedhros found that if he rocked his body just above Glorfindel, there was just enough friction as their erections rubbed together to create a shared euphoria.  This, coupled with the constant kissing, was bringing them both closer to orgasm. Blood seeped into the mattress beneath them, but no one seemed to care. A blissful sigh escaped Glorfindel.  “What are you thinking about?” asked Maedhros curiously.

“How much I like tall men,” answered Glorfindel.

“How fortunate for me,” Maedhros’ voice rumbled, and Glorfindel sighed again.  “You like it when I talk like this?”

“I like it when anyone talks like that to me,” Glorfindel said.

Maedhros leaned down and spoke softly to keep the others from hearing.  In a low purr, he said, “I am going to make you come all over, Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower.  I am going to make you burst with uncontrollable pleasure. I am going to tease you and taste you and when I tell you to, you will scream for me.”

Whether Maedhros expected it or not, Glorfindel shook with anticipation underneath him--for no one had ever commanded him in quite this exact manner and he felt he could not get enough of it. This affected him all the more precisely because he did not have a previous physical relationship with Maedhros. His building pleasure fed off the newness and the excitement, a perfect joining of admiration and desire and inner yearnings being quenched with such skill. Something like “oh!” came from the beautiful mouth, and an extra buck of the hips confirmed his want.

“You are going to spoil him,” Erestor chided. “He loves to be dominated--just not too extreme. No fair, Mae.” But a smile came with it, to see his love enjoying himself so very much.

“Just making polite conversation,” Maedhros said as innocently as possible while he rubbed his cock against Glorfindel’s and nuzzled against Glorfindel’s throat.  

Gildor, now running his hands up and down Fingon’s thighs, hiked one leg up so that he could rub against whomever he could happen to reach.  His own desire was mounting, and he hummed and groaned around Fingon’s hard member. One hand rose up to fondle Fingon again as Gildor suckled harder.

“Come around to me,” Erestor insisted to Gildor. While Gildor was somewhat unclear on what Erestor could do for him given his current level of occupation with Fingon, he did as he was asked. Seconds later Gildor felt himself penetrated by the Galvorn phallus, which Erestor had kept unseen beneath his body in order to warm it. Knowing that Gildor needed no preparation beyond oiling, he at least hoped his surprise would be a welcome one.

Ignorant of what played out nearby, Maedhros had his full concentration upon Glorfindel.  There was something precise and meandering about the way Maedhros offered pleasure to Glorfindel.  Instead of the rush that Glorfindel sometimes felt from other lovers, Maedhros acted as if he had all the time in the world to build their desire--and, realized Glorfindel, they honestly did.  “Such smooth, milky skin,” crooned Maedhros. He dipped down and ran his tongue down the center of Glorfindel’s chest, from his throat down to his belly, keeping his gaze on Glorfindel the entire time.  “Spread your legs a little wider,” commanded Maedhros under his breath.

Obedience came immediately. Glorfindel did not speak much, but eyes filled with a mix of admiration and disbelief tracked the elf giving him so many good feelings. He could not help that his mind ran riot with a hodgepodge of fantasies and curiosities. A sense of safety pervaded him, knowing and fully believing that his lovers would not take him to task for this. Really, he could hardly wait to share this with them later--if indeed they were not already looking in. Distracted, he was not exactly doing much to guard his thoughts just now. That alone felt like a form of honesty. Maedhros rubbed against him again, and the spot to which Fingon had so generously given attention of late ached to be filled. That would not happen this time, but enjoyment of all the sensations was still his. So he smiled, and gazed up at Maedhros as though he was the most exquisite sight in the world. Which, in some ways, he indeed was.

Nearby, Gildor was trying to talk with a mouthful of Fingon’s cock and the results were bordering on hilarious. Erestor, who had already received his satisfaction, had to stifle a laugh at the garbled morass of liquid vowels that came pouring out. Whatever Gildor meant, only he and Maedhros knew. Certainly no one else could possibly understand that. Erestor twisted and plunged the instrument, learning very quickly via observation what excited Gildor the most. Quickly he piled on unrelenting stimulation, hoping to time Gildor’s orgasm against Fingon’s building ecstasy.

“We are so close to it, Glorfindel.  Can you feel that energy all around us?” asked Maedhros.  “We are all enamoured with the inevitable. So close… so very close… ah, but not yet,” tumbled out the words.  “You must be as close as they are. Ready to explode. Not yet, though,” warned Maedhros. “Soon… so soon.”

Though the words were meant for Glorfindel, Fingon heard them, and they added to the sensations he felt.  It was all a jumble of enjoyment, swirling around him a blinding exhibition of scents and colors, and no expectation that he was required to do more than feel the love and lust around him, and to relish and accept all of it.

“Please,” Glorfindel begged, for he already felt ready to explode, and then some. “I cannot stand more, please let me come.” The conviction that he had acceded this control to Maedhros consumed him. Indeed, he ached. While he could not see his intimate parts, they felt so full that his skin could not contain them, that his form was engorged and stretched past what it could endure. Desperate for release, he held onto Maedhros’ arms, hoping that his torment would soon be relieved soon.

“I do not doubt your patience.  Give yourself more credit than this,” Maedhros said in an impossibly even tone.  “We can build it up a little more before it all comes crashing back down.” Maedhros kept his balance on his stump and reached down to wrap his thumb and forefinger around the base of Glorfindel’s scrotum, which seemed to pulse with anticipation.  “There. That should help. Not much longer now… can you feel that tingling all through your body? Just wait until you feel it all release at once. It will be so very powerful--but not yet. Not yet,” Maedhros said firmly.

“I...alright,” Glorfindel capitulated, feeling slightly stung at the criticism. He was not certain he believed Maedhros, but he also knew this glorious redhead would have his own way.

_ You can do this, Fin,  _ Erestor encouraged.  _ Trust him. He will not harm you. In his own gruff way, he is trying to give you his very best. _

_ I am not sure I like the gruff part,  _ Glorfindel told his husband while he closed his eyes.

_ Then remember that I held him in a diaper at my knee, once. And I would knock him down in an instant, were he to hurt you. He meant no belittling of you. In his family, a comment like that was the mildest thing imaginable. In this, you must trust me. _

_ I do, Ress. I just...he is...I have had fantasies and now it is real and I think I feel a little scared. I do not want to ruin this. _

_ Shhhh, sweetie. Just think of my arms around you. Think of me inside of you. Close your eyes, and imagine he is Káno, holding you tightly. Giving you all his love. _

The blond’s eyes did close, as he took Erestor’s guidance to heart. Now a little smile came over him, for now Fingon lay atop him and was loving him completely. A deep sigh of happiness escaped him. Somehow, he had been able to completely ignore the increasingly strained and passionate noises issuing from Gildor, who was shaking and groaning his ecstasy into Fingon’s erection. Smiling, Erestor continued to preside over his own personal sexual orchestra.

A chain reaction occurred as soon as Fingon lost all control of himself.  He released with a powerful noise, a guttural growl that alerted Gildor just in time so that he did not choke.  Gildor, in turn, pumped his fist around his own erection as he swallowed down what he could, and left the rest to dribble out the corner of his mouth.  It was then, and only then, that Maedhros loosened his grip on Glorfindel and ran a single finger over the slit of Glorfindel’s head. His breath was warm against the side of Glorfindel’s face as he whispered the word Glorfindel was longing for: “Now.”

Erestor hung on lazily to both implement and Fingon, enjoying the powerful contractions around his length. A feast for the senses lay before him. Glorfindel bit into Maedhros’ shoulder, crying out as had been demanded of him--really though there was no demand, given he proved incapable of doing otherwise. His hips lifted into Maedhros’ groin; he released powerfully as had been promised. From his mind issued a more intelligible cry of  _ Káno!  _ followed shortly thereafter by  _ Ress!  _ before he eased himself fully, clinging to his lover. At least he did not call their names aloud; that would have seemed quite rude.

Feeling very pleased, Erestor masterfully worked the phallus over Gildor’s sensitive spot, determined that Gildor should now join the others in their satisfaction.  It took very little coaxing for Gildor to jerk harder on himself, and there was soon a spurt of fluid, followed by another, and a muffled groan.

Extremely satisfied with his work, Maedhros assisted in extricating Glorfindel from beneath him.  Now that the redhead was on his back, he patted Glorfindel’s rear and encouraged him with a smile.  “Go let my husband know that dessert is ready.”

Gildor breathed hard, for once in his life wondering if he had bitten off more than he could chew. “Mae Mae,” he struggled for air. “I think I had too much dinner. But there is always room for dessert,” he rallied, trying to catch his body up to his mind. “Has to be!”

Glorfindel grinned at Gildor’s antics, and paused by Maedhros. The blond coiled a lock of red hair around his fingers. “Thank you, Mae. Thank you for granting me such an honor.” The obvious sincerity, so free of artifice, was spoken from the heart. A chaste kiss was placed on Maedhros’ cheek. Glorfindel gave the same to Gildor, but added another whispered sentiment: “You are blessed.” Lowering himself against Fingon, he offered silently to Erestor that if he desired a second fulfillment, to take him. Chuckling at the answer, Glorfindel adjusted his pose, wrapping his upper body around his thoroughly drugged husband. His rear swayed temptingly in the air, waiting for Erestor.

“This will not take long at all,” Erestor said, smoothing his hand over Glorfindel’s perfect body. Already he had slicked himself, knowing that it was enough. Holding tightly to Fingon, Glorfindel braced his body for the rough thrusting to follow--but that never happened. Worried about his mate’s condition, Erestor very rapidly worked only the tip of his erection inside the tight muscle at Glorfindel’s entrance, relying on that friction to reach his second climax. Their coupling was very gentle, though Erestor did push in deeply when he orgasmed. Thoroughly spent, he rested for a moment on the strong back. “Thank you, Fin. Generous Fin--that was lovely.” With a peck to his lover’s shoulder Erestor pulled out, and the pair of them flopped and cuddled up against Fingon, sleepily wondering what if anything the others would do next.

_ I almost feel sorry for Gildor,  _ Glorfindel mused.  _ I mean, I like sucking another man off as much as anyone, but this has to be some kind of a personal record he is trying to break. _

_ Well, he is exceptionally good at it,  _ Erestor answered appreciatively.  _ I almost wonder if he gives lessons. _

_ For you? Assuredly.  _ Glorfindel quelled his urge to laugh.  _ Káno? Did you enjoy Gildor’s attentions? _

“Uhnnnnnnnnhh,” came forth rather volubly, followed by a tremendous sigh of contentment.

_ I believe we can interpret that to the affirmative.  _ Erestor adjusted his position, propping up his head to see Gildor in hot pursuit of dessert.  _ Damn,  _ he admired, ensuring Fingon’s pillows were such that he too had an adequate view of the proceedings.

“Faster,” demanded Maedhros, hand knotting in Gildor’s hair. First came a whimper from the beleaguered blond, then a genuine effort to do as he had been told. After a short time of enjoying this attention came a different order: “Stop.”

Nearly breathless with exertion, Gildor ceased his motion, but still held Maedhros’ length down his throat.

“You did well,” his lover praised. “In reward, you are to have what you most enjoy.” The sound from Gildor was unintelligible while Maedhros rose and repositioned his body, but the pleasure of Maedhros piercing his entrance seemed unmistakable. Like a disheveled wildcat he seemed, panting with exertion and lust, seeking to regain equilibrium while Maedhros vigorously pounded into him.

“Oh Mae Mae…so close…” Gildor’s eyes were wide open, yet unseeing. There was full expectation of being made to wait, made to prolong the climb to his ecstasy. 

“I love you,” the redhead told his husband, reaching around to vigorously stroke Gildor’s waiting arousal.

“I love….ah! Oh! OOOOOH! Mae Mae!” Gildor’s exclamations erupted in a shout, with three jets of seed bursting onto the sheet beneath him. Maedhros, silent but grasping Gildor hard with his arm, tossed back his wild mane, revealing a face contorted by sexual delight. The now subtle movement of his hips made apparent that he was spending himself deep inside of his mate.

_ The agony of ecstasy,  _ Erestor mused philosophically, mesmerized by the pair. Still connected, both of them collapsed to their sides. In a display of fierce possessiveness, Maedhros wrapped arms and legs both around his love, molding Gildor so close to his body that the finest hair could not slip between them.

_ That was beautiful _ , Glorfindel opined, moved by what he had seen.

Maedhros’ eyes suddenly flashed open.  “Dinner,” was all he said in alarm.

“I can take it out of the oven,” volunteered Erestor, who was somehow much cleaner than everyone else.  He slipped away following a kiss to each of his lovers and went to the first floor.

A few minutes of peace followed, until both Gildor and Glorfindel sat up simultaneously.  “Quick! Need to--”

“--stop him,” finished Glorfindel.  They fumbled about to wipe off the residue of their sexual escapade, and find clothing should Elrond and Celebrían be downstairs.  Both of them trying to make it down at the same time nearly caused them to trip and get stuck, but somehow they managed, and reached the kitchen as Erestor was setting a tray on the counter.  “Halt!” demanded Glorfindel while Gildor rushed to grab oven mitts.

“What?  What is wrong?”  Erestor kept the tray aloft until Gildor quickly took it from him.  “What--”

“Nothing.  All is well now.”  Glorfindel relaxed and leaned against the table.  

Erestor narrowed his eyes.  “Did you… you did not trust me.”

Gildor and Glorfindel exchanged a look.  “Well… I mean…” Gildor shrugged. “I still remember those eggs you boiled.”

“Oh, honestly,” huffed Erestor as he pulled his own oven mitts off, which were really the ones belonging to Fingon because he was not allowed to own oven mitts.

“They bounced, Erri.  Like rubber.”

“I did not realize that was vinegar and not water,” mumbled Erestor.

“Really?  Come on.” Gildor made sure the tray was balanced and then went to the cupboard where various jars and vials for cooking and baking were kept.  He pulled a bottle of vinegar from the shelf and removed the cork. “Even from here I can smell it!”

“Smell what?” Erestor asked.

Glorfindel pinched his nose.  “The vinegar. It has that pungent… dead smell.”

Erestor bent his head over the bottle and sniffed, and shrugged.  “I barely smell a thing.”

Gildor placed the bottle under his own nostrils, and turned his head away a moment later.  “I find it incredible that you cannot smell this.”

“I can smell something faintly, but it looks like water,” defended Erestor.

Glorfindel let go of his nose once the bottle was stopped up again.  “This is making me wonder about something,” said Glorfindel. “Can we… try something?  For science,” he said quickly. 

Erestor shrugged.  “Are you going to make me smell more things?”

“Not exactly.  Can you and Gildor please go into the other room for a moment?” asked Glorfindel.  Erestor nodded, and he and Gildor went to the sitting room. They were called back a few minutes later.  On the counter beside the tray of cooling food were three glasses. They all appeared to contain milk. “I want you to take a sip from each and tell me what you taste.”

With slight caution, Erestor approached.  “These are all safe?” he asked.

“Perfectly safe,” confirmed Glorfindel.  “I have water for you to drink in between to cleanse your palate.”

Erestor took a deep breath and let it out before he sipped from the first.  “I assume this is the glass that does not contain a variable,” said Erestor.

“Maybe,” was all Glorfindel would say.

“It tastes like milk,” said Erestor.  “So I assume it is just milk.”

“No comment,” Glorfindel said.

As Erestor drank from the glass of water, Gildor picked up the first glass.  “I assume I am supposed to test these, too?” he asked. “That was why you had me leave as well.”

“If you would not mind,” confirmed Glorfindel.  Gildor drank from the first glass and shrugged.

“Number two.”  Erestor lifted the glass and drank from it.  He licked his lips, shrugged, and took another sip.  “Tastes like milk.”

Now Glorfindel’s eyes flickered away, and Gildor took the glass as it was handed to him.  He soon spat out the mouthful he had. “You ass. You put vinegar in that.”

“...maybe.”

Now Erestor had the third glass and was drinking from it.  “Still tastes like milk.”

Gildor warily took possession of the third glass.  “I do this because I love you both,” he said. He drank from it quickly, and pulled a face.  “The fuck is that?”

“Maple syrup,” said Glorfindel.  He looked at Erestor. “You really thought it all tasted like milk.”

Erestor nodded.  “Here I thought my nose was going to be broken, and it turns out my nose and my tongue are broken.”

“It might just be your nose,” said Glorfindel.  “Smell and taste are connected.”

“Maybe Gildor is just overly sensitive as it comes to smelling things,” suggested Erestor.

Gildor shot Erestor a contemptuous look from where he was, hovering over the basin to wash the vile taste from his mouth.  “Take that back.”

“Take what back?” asked Maedhros, who arrived now in the kitchen, carrying a sleepy Fingon in his arms.  “Sorry, I did not want to leave him up there, but I wanted to make sure dinner was alright.”

“Here.  Taste this.”  Gildor had one of the glasses in his hand without knowing which it was.  

Maedhros, unable to take hold of it, stooped down so that Gildor could lift the glass for him.  He almost immediately doused Fingon with the bitter liquid, but managed to swallow it instead. “The fuck are you three doing?”

“Science,” explained Glorfindel.

“Ew,” was Fingon’s only response.  

“Well, it seems at least two of us are going to go out and wash up properly,” said Maedhros.  “Can someone get the door for me? You are welcome to join us if you leave your disgusting concoction in here.”

“Sorry,” Gildor whined contritely. “I did not mean for that to happen. It was just so bad, but Erri cannot taste it at all.”

“This explains so many things,” Glorfindel said. “And now I am seriously wondering how you were not ever poison--” One of the glasses crashed to the floor and shattered everywhere, as Glorfindel’s hand flew to his mouth. “Oh, Valar,” Glorfindel whispered to himself. “Ress, I--”

“Fin, go. Let me clean this up,” Erestor said. “None of that was your doing. Though...I just want a few moments to think, here. Gildor, go with him. I will join you all in a few minutes and bring towels,” the dark ellon insisted. When nobody moved, he became slightly more irritable. “Go! Out! I might not be able to smell or taste anything, but I know how to clean a fucking floor!” 

They all scuttled out, save Glorfindel, who placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am leaving,” he added hurriedly when he saw the glare leveled at him. “I just want you to know that more than anything else, I love you.” Quickly he raised up on his toes and placed a kiss on the rosy cheek before vanishing.

Left at last in peace, Erestor began to pick up the larger pieces of glass. “Well, fuck,” he said despondently, taking his time.  Once the biggest pieces were safely off the floor, Erestor used some old bread to soak up the liquid and remaining shards of glass.  He went to the counter and leaned on it for a moment before opening the cupboard wider. Rows of jars with neatly printed labels were stacked two and three tall on the shelves before him.  He selected a few of the better known ones and arranged them on the counter. One by one, he opened them to sniff at the contents.

Sage.

He inhaled.  It smelled like… spices, in his brain, the manifestation of something savory and not pepper was conjured.  The jar was set aside.

Rosemary.

Again, he tested the contents, and the same thought came to mind.  He swapped back to the first one, but there was no change.

Basil.

This time, Erestor smelled nothing, and he set his jaw when he felt it quiver.

Bay leaves.

Tarragon.

Saffron.

Cumin.

Paprika.

Parsley.

Oregano.

Only mint seemed perceptible and different.  Erestor pushed all of the jars back from the edge of the counter and stared at them.  He rubbed his face and looked out the window. Maedhros was keeping Fingon from slipping beneath the water while Gildor swirled his hand along the surface and Glorfindel sat on the edge with his legs draped into the water.  Erestor sighed and looked out wearily. Dinner was probably getting cold, and so he loaded some of the food onto a tray to take out with him, which he did. As he approached, everyone else, including Fingon, seemed focused on him.

“Here is food.” Erestor was determined to ignore what they all were wondering. “I forgot the towels.” It was as good of an excuse as any to leave again for a few moments, and escape scrutiny.  _ It does not matter. It does not bother me.  _ Hot tears streaked down his face that made him feel even more angry. Some part of him wanted to avoid the emotion overtaking him, to not have a scene. He stopped in the hallway, and leaned against the wall, staring up at the pattern of the plaster on the wall. “Why?” he whispered to no one. Maybe the question was to the Valar. Or Eru. Or all of Arda. “What did I do?” His chin began to quiver, and he covered his eyes with his hands, sliding down until he sat on the floor. The inky curtain of his hair fell around his face, while stifled sobs escaped him. Why this mattered so much, he did not know. But it did, though he tried to feel otherwise.

A nervous tapping noise alerted Erestor that he was not alone.  Asfaloth came forward from the shadows. Tonight his outfit was white, as it so often was, but he had a loose tunic tied with a rope around the waist and baggy white pants.  His feet were bare, but he had a trio of opal bracelets around one wrist and a band of bells and fake flowers around his hair. “Are you hurt, Erestor?”

Tear-stained eyes looked up at the horse, his chin still quivering. Part of him wanted to lie, but he could not do that any longer. “Not on the outside,” he mumbled.

“Can I help?” Asfaloth asked, head tilted with such pure innocence and a true desire to make things better.

“Only if you can tell me why I cannot taste or smell like a normal elf. Or a normal--you are Ainu. Can you taste the difference between sugar and salt? Between oats and alfalfa? Can you smell when molasses is in your food, or the difference between a carrot and an apple? Can you? Because I cannot,” he all but wailed. “I know it is stupid but it hurts.  I cannot tell if it hurts more to know it, or if it hurts more to realize it took me this long to recognize all of this.” He thumped against his chest in emphasis, as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Oh dear, oh dear.  They told me this might happen.”  Asfaloth searched his nonexistent pockets for a handkerchief and finally retrieve a large, absorbent towel instead.  “First, we should clarify. I am not Ainu. I am Nahar. I am the… prototype! I am just like a horse because I am a horse, so I can taste and eat things.  You are not like a normal elf because you are not a normal elf. You are not an elf! You are something more--not that you are something less as a Vala.” Asfaloth’s ears drooped.  “You are special,” he settled on.

“So now ‘special’ is the new euphemism for ‘defective’?” Erestor asked bitterly.

“No,” Asfaloth answered, not taking offense.  “How many elves do you know that can talk to all the animals… except for cats, because, most cats are assholes and not worth talking to anyhow?”

“That is different,” grumbled Erestor, who now wiped at his eyes. “That is just...I am some kind of freak, is all.”

Asfaloth knocked his knuckles together.  “Um… talking horse? Also… do you realize how many  ex-wives I have? All of them. All of them, Erestor.  Guess how many people are like me?” Asfaloth held up both hands to display what looked like a zero when they were joined together by his fingertips.

Nothing else yet said had penetrated Erestor’s inner turmoil, but that did. For a long moment, he stared up at Asfaloth, his lips parted. “My words were selfish, and inconsiderate. Please pardon me. You did not deserve to have to listen to my whining. Now I feel ashamed.” Erestor felt like he did not want to move from this spot on the floor. Not now. Maybe not ever. “I ruin everything. Still.”

Asfaloth crouched down and patted Erestor on the head.  “No. You know that is false. Now, you are confused, yes?  Or, you want answers? I can try to help you. I know a lot of things.  I did get to wander around all of your kinfolk, including your father.”

“My father?” Erestor whispered, reaching to hold onto Asfaloth’s arm for the sake of comfort. “He never cared about me. I do not believe any of them ever did. All of them used me, even your master.  I gave my best and...what good did it do?” Erestor’s head drooped. “I was loyal to them. I--” His dark head shook sadly. “I do not know what you could possibly tell me that would help. I would not even know what to ask. But thank you for your kindness.”

Asfaloth hung his head.  “I understand. I mean, what good is information from a horse, right?”  He gave a sad little snort as he stood up. “Sorry to bother you,” he said.

“Please! Asfaloth, no!” Erestor exclaimed, ineffectively lurching sideways to try to catch a leg or a foot. When he missed, it left him sprawled forward on his belly. “Please do not leave me. My words did not--I really do not think of you as a horse. I mean, you are a horse, but you are not. I do not discount the things you say at all. I was trying to say that I am the one who is ignorant. So ignorant that I am lost and do not know where to even begin. I am sorry I hurt you.” Miserable and overwrought, Erestor began crying again. One arm folded for a place to bury his head, the other remained stretched out before him. He knew how pathetic this must look but could not bring himself to care.

Very tenderly, Asfaloth tucked Erestor into an elf bundle and carried him to one of the unused bedrooms on the side of the first floor.  There, Asfaloth set Erestor onto the bed and sat down on the edge. “I do not know where to begin, either. You must have some specific questions, though.  I can try my best to answer them.” Asfaloth clapped his knuckles nervously together.

“They keep saying they have not been fair to me. But they never really elaborate on what they mean by those words. What...I mean, I was, am, more than an elf. I understand that part. I did what they told me to and it...was it because of Angband?” he asked quietly.

“Was what about Angband?” fretted Asfaloth.

“Because they left me there. Is that was what was not fair?” Erestor asked.

Asfaloth peered around into all of the far corners of the room, as if he expected someone to show up at any moment.  Then, with voice low and timid, he asked, “Do you know why you were sent to Angband?”

“To find him. Morgoth. Like being a scout, or something. That was what I believed.” Erestor’s eyes were calm, honest.

“Ehh…”  Asfaloth’s upper lip twitched.  “They knew where Melkor was.” His words were stilted as he spoke.  “After Gondolin, we sent an emissary, and he sent someone, and there was an agreement made.  He almost had you back when some orc found you in Gondolin, but you slipped away. He agreed to stop the war if you were given back to him.  There was a lot of debate, but it was decided… it never sat well with Irmo. It still bothers him. He was the only dissenting voice. Even Varda… the trouble was, even though Melkor initially kept his promise, there were others, Mairon chief among them, and we knew then that we could not completely contain the evil.  You were... “ Asfaloth rapped his knuckles against his legs. “You were the price paid for the prospect of peace. Then we ended up rescuing you later, well, you know that part.”

Erestor’s eyes widened. Every part of him wanted to find a reason why Asfaloth had to be wrong, but...he had on some level always known the pieces did not all fit together. Too numb to cry, he could only whisper. “What they did to me in there...they knew? They handed me over like an animal for slaughter?” He did not tell Asfaloth of Irmo’s offer to him. Right now, he could not for anything imagine wanting to be a Vala, if this is what the Valar were. Could do. And somewhere inside of him, a place in his heart was breaking.

“Some of them thought you would be cared for because Melkor said he wanted to be reunited with his son.  Others suspected worse. All but Irmo agreed it was a small price to pay if indeed peace was achieved.” Asfaloth sighed.  “I know there are other Valar who like you, but Irmo has been the only one to demand protection for you. His voice is only one.”

“No one protected me in there. No one came to save me when my life turned to ruin on account of my pain. I have been blessed with Glorfindel and Fingon and a few fast friends. For all the rest, I have been despised.” He turned toward Asfaloth. “I owe you a debt. You call yourself just a horse, and yet you have proved to be my true friend. This...just makes me want to try harder. The only revenge I can find is in seeking Eru’s blessing to not be like they are. I am a child of Eru. I know that I am. None can take that away from me.” Erestor inched over toward Asfaloth, and hugged his waist. “Thank you, with all my heart.”

Again, Asfaloth patted Erestor’s head.  “I want to see you happy, but I also want to help you find the things you lost.  Or, things you never knew. It is hard for me to speak against my mas--my former master.  It truly is! I love Oromë! He was the best master, really. But you must believe my words about Irmo, Erestor.  He would have done more if he could have. They censured him, and threatened him with exile if he stood in their way.  He did try, and then, he could do nothing. Maybe you think he should have come on his own, but he did what he could, and… well, if Mairon had captured Irmo, what good would that be for the world?  Without Irmo, all we have left are nightmares.”

“I do not judge them,” Erestor said sadly. “Any of them. That is the provenance of Eru alone. I only can tell you that I never wish to emulate this kind of behavior. All my life, Asfaloth, I have been dragged down into the slough. I owe it to my mates, and to my Creator, to find a better way. I had hoped in them, obeyed them. Still I would do as they bid. But I will never trust them again. My prayers are to Eru Ilúvatar.” A indescribable calm pervaded Erestor. “I will tell you this much. When you think of something you think will help, tell me. I will listen. I accept your aid with gratitude. I will not ignore your counsel, either. You were honest. They were not. The truth is always better than lies, even if it took me all the ages of our people to understand that.”

Asfaloth bit at his lip.  “Then… consider, and I will not bring it up again, but consider forgiving Irmo for what he could not do, because he did so much when he could.  He argued to bring you back the second time you died, and he--” Again, Asfaloth searched the room with his eyes. “He let you and Glorfindel ‘see’ each other in the dream world, when you were in Angband, until he was made to stop by the others, and to make you both forget.  He tried, Erestor, he honestly did, and that was more than the others did.” Asfaloth lowered his voice. “Some of the others are even afraid of you.”

Erestor shook out his hair, sitting up now. “Then if only because you ask it, consider it done,” he told the horse, placing his hand over his heart in emphasis of his sincerity. “But how could anyone be afraid of me? A washed-up, recovering drunkard and addict who wasted most of his years of life chasing phantoms and lies? I am nothing. As Gildor so eloquently pointed out, I cannot even boil an egg. It is a miracle I have any who love me. All I want is to grow food, and live a simple life with my chosen family. I truly do not understand what you mean. I am nothing.” The warm brown eyes smiled with self-deprecation. For Erestor, this was simply truth--how he saw himself.

In a voice of ominous calm, Asfaloth spoke these words: “You are the son of Melkor the Mighty.  What do you think would happen if you chose Vala?”

“How do you know about that?” Erestor paled. “For I have not even told my husbands I have this choice before me.” 

“I already told you,” Asfaloth said.  “I have seen and heard much. No one wanted to tell you that you had a choice.  Irmo is being shunned by the others even now for having shared that with you. They worry that you might… well, I am not going to speak it.  You never would.”

Erestor looked away. “Melkor the Mighty. Please do not take this the wrong way, but...my father is the lead character in a bad tragi-comedy. If I am like him in any way, it is that we both once had a great deal and squandered it until nothing was left. He out of malice, me out of ignorance. Forgive me but--that is absurd. Do they truly know so little of me? Ever have I declared that Manwë is my king. I was loyal, Asfaloth! I have never wanted to rule others. I could have had that chance, long ago. So unless Erestor the Mighty were to take up hoeing and weeding the expanse of the heavens…” he laughed. “Ridiculous.”

Asfaloth tapped his knuckles together.  “I would help if you decided to. The hoeing and the weeding, that is,” he clarified.

“I believe you would,” Erestor smiled. “I know I have to tell them, Asfaloth. Fin and Káno, I mean. I feel afraid to. It is really more that...I already know what I want to do because the other choice seemed implausible. Now it seems actively revolting. I just wonder if I am overlooking something terribly important. I have no one to guide me or offer counsel. At least, no one I can think of. I am fresh out of friends that are half-elf half-Vala.”

“You could speak to Elrond,” suggested Asfaloth.  “He is close enough? There is also--” His mouth snapped shut, and he looked down guiltily.  “Sorry. I forgot I was not supposed to talk about him.”

Erestor looked at Asfaloth pleadingly. “Are you really going to do that to me?” he asked softly. “If you had not ever said that...but you did. Please?”

Asfaloth chewed at his bottom lip rather noisily.  “The trouble is, he does not yet know. He has to make a choice, too.”

“So there _ is _ another like me?” Erestor asked.

Asfaloth nodded his head.  “I mean…if you…guess...” He lifted his brows.

Erestor reached for Asfaloth’s hand, and took it in his own. He had not previously realized that the hands were odd. They did not feel like the hands of others; they had a weight and a density to them that reminded him of hooves. He said nothing aloud, and twined his fingers with that of his friend.The answer came in a flash. “Káno,” he whispered. “Because they tore me asunder and gave part of me to him.” Erestor’s thumb worked in a figure eight pattern over Asfaloth’s skin, and he gave a weak smile. “I know that I will choose him. My husband, the other half of my spirit. I wonder, will he choose me?” On seeing Asfaloth’s worried nod, Erestor smoothed back his pale hair. “I give you my word that I will not tell him, if that is what you want of me. I will not repay your generosity by causing you grief.”

“Ummm…”  Asfaloth had not the chance to speak further, for delightful laughter erupted into the cottage from the front door.  “Oh! Fuck! Ooopsie! I mean, darn! Drat!”

“I think you can use the word ‘fuck’ around here, Asfaloth.  It happens often enough,” Erestor said dryly.

“Oh, yes, yes, oh, I mean, no no…”  Asfaloth pulled his hands away and tapped his knuckles together rapidly.  “Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian had me drop them by the river, and then I was supposed to go get them again, and I forgot!  Oh, they will think me fit for nothing but glue!” he bemoaned.

“They will think no such thing--in fact, they sound joyful,” Erestor recognized.  He took a moment to compose himself. “Please say nothing of this to the others. I will speak to them of it, in my own time.”

“But--”

“I know, my record is not exactly proof of that, but I promise.  I just need a little time.” Erestor pulled Asfaloth into a hug, ending the conversation before he stood and went back out to lead their guests to the back yard (where he hoped that the food was warm and the other occupants were not canoodling).  Asfaloth trailed behind, chewing at his bottom lip and knocking his knuckles together nervously.


	18. Day 18

###  Day 18 - Morning

A rap on the door caused Gildor to moan and turn onto his side as he wrapped the blankets closer to his naked form.  Another knock triggered his curiosity, but not enough to get up. “Unless there is a fire, I do not intend to leave this bed before noon.”

“You can stay in the bed if you like.  May I come in?”

Gildor’s lips curled and he waved his hand, though the gesture went unseen.  “You may enter, Finde.” Still, he snuggled deeper into the covers as the door opened and light from the hallway flooded the room.  “How can I not be of service this morning?”

“If you were amicable, I thought I might paint you.”

Gildor turned just his head now, to see Glorfindel a little beyond the doorway.  He was wearing a smock over his clothing, and there was a brush tucked over his ear.  Spectacles were perched on his nose, and already it was obvious he had been dabbling with the acrylics from the speckles of color on his nose and cheek.  His hands were folded behind his back, and he looked simply adorable. “How can I possibly say no to you?”

“You could, but then I would be resigned to boring landscapes and still lifes, and since that has been all I have been painting the last two weeks, I would really like a change of scenery.  Would you mind if I set up in here and used you as my muse?”

“Call me inspiration,” replied Gildor as he threw off the blanket with such force that it smacked into the wall and fell to the floor.  The sheet was tangled about his feet, and this he artfully arranged so that anyone looking upon him could see that he had a fine form, and yet, he left something to the imagination.  “How is this?” he purred.

“Perfect.  Let me get my easel.”  Glorfindel rushed out of the room, only to return shortly thereafter with the easel, plus paint, canvas, and all else that was needed.  

Gildor watched the preparation with only passing interest.  “I am delighted that you thought of me. To paint, that is. In Rivendell, so oft, it was Erestor who was your subject.  In fact... oh, and this is not the way to start the morning…”   
  


“I never painted you at all,” Glorfindel said with remorse.  “I only just thought of that this morning. I plan to remedy that now.”

“May I talk, or should I remain still?” asked Gildor.

“You may speak,” Glorfindel encouraged.  “I am going to begin by sketching it out, and then I will paint, though the painting can be long, and so if you need breaks, do let me know.  It will probably take a few days, really.” 

“Well, we cannot rush genius, can we?” Gildor smiled and closed his eyes, but engaged once more in conversation.  “I had a really great time last night. I hope that there will be an encore, and that I will not have to wait too long for it to happen.”

Chuckling, Glorfindel noticed a corner of the canvas he felt needed a bit more gesso. “Never change, love. Though I could not keep up with you, I did miss your enthusiastic spirit. In fact, I feel I must ask you a personal question, if I still may be so bold?”

“Well, I am the muse, am I not here to entice and inspire, and answer all the questions of your desire?” Gildor grinned in spite of himself.  “Erestor is rubbing off on me. Do not tell his poeticalness I said that.”

“You have my word,” Glorfindel promised while selecting a small angle brush for creating outlines. “So this is not any of my business but is Mae as lusty as you? I mean, do you really meet each other in the middle and you both have that level of desire, or do you have some kind of...understanding?” His words were said with his eyes lowered, shyly. “You and he are beautiful together. It was special, to watch.”

“Oh, boy.  You just went right for it.  Alright.” Gildor sighed. “There are three other men on the mainland with whom I have regular...discourse.  With Mae Mae there. This is why we have such solid rules, Finde. Umm…is Maedhros as lusty as I am?” Gildor pressed his lips together and shook his head.  “He and Fingon really are more alike than they want to admit. Maedhros is driven by his passion for crafting things, and doing so fastidiously. Whereas Fingon’s competition is athletic, more or less, with Maedhros it is in the intricacy of the things he can make.  Or, well, what he used to be able to make,” Gildor said, solemn now. “Anyhow, on the topic of sexual exploits...Maedhros has a taste for the exotic when it comes to foreplay. I feel like, my foreplay tended to be more on the playful end of things, and being with Maedhros has caused me to do riskier things.”  His jaw twitched for a moment before he added, “The sorts of things Maedhros and Fingon used to do together.”

“Ah,” Glorfindel said. “That. Uhm, thank you for the answer. Funny you mention that. I feel in some ways like I have become the solution to a long-deferred desire, for Fingon. I feel honored to fulfill that role, and I certainly have been the recipient of a great deal of pleasure. We are still exploring what we have together. I just know that I have yet to find a reason to deny him. Everything he has wanted of me has gone well. Almost too well. I still feel like...eh. Listen to me. I really do like how you have managed to arrange the linens around your, er, form,” he smiled.

“Oh, stop.  Get back to the sex part,” insisted Gildor.  “You have been repeatedly intimate? No pain?  Enjoyable? Details!” Gildor swallowed down the last word as soon as it was out.  “Sorry. Rude. I should not demand that of you. Yes, the linens. The linens are exquisite this time of year.”

“I do not mind, Gildor. This is you, and we are alone. You know, privacy, with no Fingon near to potentially embarrass or distress. I am not going to pretend that we have not been in each other’s literal business on and off for what amounts to forever. Besides, I just asked you an extremely personal personal question. So, sex. Repeatedly--yes. No pain--none, at all. Enjoyable? I do not even know what do to with it,” he sighed wistfully. “Fingon makes love to me…” Glorfindel swallowed hard. “It is still so hard to say. He slips his penis into my vagina when he loves me, and when he moves it is beyond anything I could have imagined. I feel at those times like I have found the place for which Eru made me. Fingon actually wants me as I am, Gildor. He wants to come inside of me--there. You do not know what that means to me. How wanted I feel. Well, maybe you do. Anyway.” The emotion of speaking about this ran high, and in frustration he quickly brushed away an escaped tear.

“Oh, Finde…I want to come over there and give you a hug, but I do not want to ruin your painting.”  Gildor lifted one hand and made grabbing motions with it. “The two of you are really beautiful together, especially when you are not frustrated--and even then…well.  I am so glad you have found happiness, all of you, Erestor included. And...I daresay I am happy for whatever this is the five of us have found together. What I did not mention is the men on the mainland have not been the same three men since Maedhros and I have been together.  And last night, when we were going to bed, Mae Mae asked me, ‘So, if we settle down here, do you think you can settle for everyone here?’ And when I asked, with or without the young ellon who was here for the party--he had this tell. He pauses, and his pupils dilate a little, and then he answers while giving just a slight bow of his head, and it means whatever he is saying, he means the opposite.  And he said, ‘I suppose that would be alright.’ I know jealousy when I see it.” Gildor slightly shrugged. “I thought it was too much to ask for, the thought of being with...well, at least you again in some way, if you were agreeable. Anyhow--I think I am in a better place than I have been in for a long while. I like this feeling. Not sure how the rest of you feel, but that is where I am at.”

“I can only speak for myself,” Glorfindel answered slowly. “Fingon allows me this with you and Mae, and so does Ress. I love both of them deeply. I am not sure if you know what it is to have fucked up so completely and still be given a second chance. I would have managed if they said ‘No,’ but I am glad for what is developing. I missed you, I will not deny it--I just do not believe we were matrimonial material. And Mae--” a sharp exhalation followed. “You think I am lucky? He is...I feel like he is so beautiful, so beautiful I could not deserve to even have him glance at me--forget showing me intimate attentions. When he pleasured me, I felt like a giddy youth again, but so much more. I am too old to be fawning over a lover but with him I cannot seem to help it; he is too much. All of you--how am I so lucky to be around so much beauty?”

“Sweetheart, there is one thing you need to keep in mind about Mae Mae.  Whoever ended up with Mae Mae ended up with you-know-who for a father-in-law.”  Gildor lifted a brow, and the expression spoke volumes. “Better you get to enjoy the fruits of my labors,” he teased.

“Just be glad you chose right the first time around,” Glorfindel countered. “You have the great blessing of not living with the guilt of wrecking a marriage beyond repair. Abandoning my mate and reviling him, when he needed me most.” He paused for a moment in his self-recrimination, realizing something. “I never thought about fathers-in-law. Morgoth, Salgant, and Fingolfin. I do not even know what to do with that. Fëanor...well, I admit that must be interesting, but...I guess I can be grateful for Fingolfin, anyway.” With a sigh, a different brush dipped into colors he would apply as a wash, something for an initial background texture.

Gildor thought carefully before answering. “Finde, this is not the first time I have heard you speak of your second relationship with Faelion in such a manner. You have all moved on from him; you have the love of two extraordinary ellyn. Well, four, if I take the liberty to include fabulous us in your affections,” he preened, fluffing his hair before his mein turned serious. “Why are you still being so hard on yourself?”

The paint brush lowered, and Glorfindel’s lip trembled just a little. “How can I not? I mean, yes, on some level I have forgiven myself. I had to; how I used to be was making me completely unstable. Worse, I think I was making my partners miserable with my constant sorrow. But I have to not let myself forget, Gildor. I feel like it is in me, to go astray. To make terrible choices. That cannot ever happen again.” By the end, his voice quavered with grief.

“I am going to ruin your painting,” Gildor said flatly, rising and embracing him. Unable to stop himself, Glorfindel wept in his arms. “I want you to listen to me. It is in everyone to go astray. Look at me; I am the very definition of susceptible to enticements. Yes, these thing happened in your history with Erri. Yes, they shaped your past--and to an extent they shape your future. But you have to stop judging yourself for those past choices. You did not do those things in a void. Answer me this--at the time, were you seeking Erri’s ruination?”

“Not exactly,” Glorfindel sniffled, wiping his eyes. “Ress had become a mess with no seeming hope of change or recovery. I did not know how to reach him. You know what he was like, you saw enough of it. I was tired, so tired, of the long years of the drugs and his flirtations and his intractibilities. He would never let me in, never let me see what really had happened to him. I felt at the end of my resources, and then Faelion returned.”

“So what you really wanted was to find renewed happiness, happiness that you no longer had?” Gildor prodded.

“Kind of.” Glorfindel’s head had buried itself into the crook of Gildor’s arm. “Alright, yes, but that did not change what should have been my commitment to Ress. Or that I knowingly paired up with Faelion to heap even more suffering onto his misery. That knife in my side helps me. When I became enraged with Fingon over the succession issue, at least I knew what I was not going to do. I would not leave, would not run away again whatever it might mean for me. My promises have to mean something, Gildor. My integrity. I lost that once, and I cannot live with that ever happening again.”

Gildor’s strong hands petted the fluffy golden hair. “Well, good. Now that you have had this moral awakening, you are going to promise me something, Finde.”

“I am?” Another sniffle erupted, which Glorfindel dabbed at with his smock.

“You are. I claim the right of our long years of love--and friendship. You owe me this,” Gildor insisted.

“What?” Glorfindel raised his slightly reddened eyes to look at Gildor. 

“You will think on your time with Faelion, again and again. But from this day forward when you have those thoughts of guilt, I want you to stop it. Stop judging yourself. You say you believe in Eru and the Valar. Leave the judging with Him. Them. Whichever. You will promise me you will relinquish the right to judge this particular instance of going astray. I want this, Finde. Promise me.” 

Glorfindel could barely recall when he had seen Gildor seem this serious about anything. His wide eyes blinked. Deep uncertainty ran through him, even while some part of him knew he should agree. Interrupting his consideration, a soft knock came on the door before it opened.

Asfaloth clicked his knuckles together nervously. “I apologize, for overhearing. It is these ears, you see. Horsie ears. And thin walls. I hear things I do not mean to. Though, maybe this time it is not so bad.”

“You sent me the dream,” Glorfindel blurted out, pointing at the horse. “The dream in Fingon’s theater. So I would remember. So I would change! I know you did! You are here to tell me I should not do what Gildor wants?”

“Dream? What dream?” Gildor frowned.

Asfaloth knelt down, ignoring Gildor, taking Glorfindel’s hands in his own. “No, master. I came in here to tell you that I think you ought to do what Gildor asks. You were never meant to endlessly suffer for a mistake, however serious. I know I am just a horse, but I am  _ your _ horse. Neigh neigh,” he added, while the long ears began to droop. Then, much softer, “Whinny whinny.”

“You cannot possibly leave the most gorgeous creature on this island thus saddened,” Gildor pressed on, sensing an advantage.

“Alright!” Glorfindel capitulated, jerking his hands away and burying his face in them. “I give you my promise, Gildor. But I--you are going to have to help, both of you. This has become a part of me. I am not sure I know how to deliver what you ask, especially here.” He tapped the side of his head. “Frankly, this is an entirely novel concept. Maybe what I should really promise is that I will sincerely try.”

“I know, sweetie,” Gildor murmured, “which is why I will take both those promises. That is why I was so pushy. I want to help you.”

“You are always pushy,” muttered Glorfindel. “But I guess this time it is a good thing.”

“It is always a good thing!” Gildor huffed indignantly. “Just because I love you so much, I am going to try to fix your painting.” Strutting back to the bed, he dove onto the mattress, weaving the coverings back over his groin. Sort of.

“Your balls are hanging out,” Asfaloth offered, trying to be helpful. Both Glorfindel and Gildor stared at him in disbelief. “Ah. Uhm, I think the roses need me. I will just be moving along now. No pooping in the house, Fingon does not like that.”

“Asfaloth, no one likes that,” Glorfindel corrected. 

Head bowed in dejection, Asfaloth walked to the door.

“Wait!” Glorfindel said. The horse turned, regarding him with sorrowfully limpid eyes. “I am very blessed to have you with me. I love you, Asfaloth. You just did something I really needed, and I want you to know I am grateful. I do not tell you often enough what you mean to me.”

The horse’s demeanor transformed. A huge smile broke out, and he pranced excitedly from the room, accidentally crashing into the doorjamb prior to slamming the door loudly enough to shake the wall. “Oops! Sorry!” They both heard, receding into the distance-- “ _ Roses! Need the roses! _ ”

Glorfindel shrugged and chuckled, picking up his paintbrush. “He is right, you know. Your balls  _ are _ showing.”

“You say that like it is a bad thing,” Gildor purred. 

“I just thought we wanted this painting acceptable for all ages. And persuasions. And--”

“FINE.” Gildor yanked the sheet into a more modest configuration, and set about resuming his previous poise. “Now that I have regained my modesty, darling, where were we?  Also, if I get a hard-on, will you be painting that in, or editing it out?”

“That will be bridge I cross when it erects itself across the river,” Glorfindel answered without skipping a beat, peering above his spectacles at the conformation of Gildor’s chest before dabbing a few more outlines onto the canvas. “But speaking of hard-ons…” For a moment he wavered, until he decided that no part of the conversation had yet been bashful. Might as well sink his teeth into it. “Do you ever think about Fingon and Mae? And if you do, can I ask what you think?” The words were spoken as casually as possible, for all their import.

“I think they need to fuck and get it over with.”  Gildor let out a long sigh, as if he was thinking through the sensual details of the event.  “Since that will never happen, they just need to fucking let all of the things in the past go and move on, but sometimes I am not sure which of them is worse.”

“How sure are you about the ‘never’ part?” Glorfindel asked softly, and unhurriedly. “For I am not sure at all, and I have been reflecting--seeking wisdom. I know little of my husband’s early life, but I recognize a glowing ember when I see one. My feelings are not like I thought they would be. There is no possessiveness or sense of envy. Only a strange kind of acceptance, and wanting to love all of him. Even if that means sharing him with another man who is not Ress--but Mae is not just anyone. That is the thing of it. They are like fire and ice; sometimes they must come together and sometimes they must be apart. Without each other there is imbalance.”

“Mae Mae still has strong feelings for Fingon.”  Gildor had one hand slid lazily under the covers with which to touch himself as they talked.  “I should probably not share this, but there have been a few times that we are kissing or more and he lets out a throaty ‘Findekano’.  So that happens sometimes.”

“I will keep that confidence,” Glorfindel reassured, considering his palette for Gildor’s skin. “Do not take this askance but that makes me glad. It at least confirms what I think I am seeing. I plan to stay out of it, you know, except for one small thing.”

“Oh?” Gildor grunted as a particularly enjoyable stroke sent a wave of euphoria through his groin.

“I want to do something to give them my blessing. So that if the time comes for them, they do not have to feel I object in any way. But--and here is my problem--I do not know how to achieve that without influencing them. If they desire to bond, I want it to be of their own origin, not because...well, you know.”

This thought sobered Gildor, and he sat up, task forgotten.  “I--” He set his jaw and pondered. “I am not sure I want to share him in that way.  I made the suggestion with the thought it would never occur, but now as you suggest it might, I find myself...what am I?  Jealous? Selfish? Hmm.” Unusually troubled, Gildor pulled his knees up and hugged his legs. “Would I be alright with the two of them renewing their bond?  And...what would that do to my relationship with Mae Mae?”

Glorfindel snorted. “I know what it would do to my relationship with Fingon. Next to nothing. You have to look at Káno like a desk with a lot of drawers. Every drawer has something that belongs in it, but he never has all the drawers open at once. No one I know does--and hobbits do not count. Mae is a drawer. A drawer concerning which Fingon would feel more complete, were it filled. But it would not be a drawer opened that often, would be my guess. Have you noticed when it is that he and Mae have their closest encounters? I have. It is when something is not right or very distressing. That is when he turns to the long and deep history and understanding the two of them have. It is not a role Ress or I will ever fill--the shared history simply is not there. But outside of that, leave Fingon and Mae alone together too long and they will be brawling on the carpet. What would happen for you, I cannot say, except...Mae loves you, Gildor. His face when he made love to you in the library…” Glorfindel’s lips parted at the memory. “There is love, and then there is what I saw,” he concluded, realizing he lacked the art of expression truly needed for a worthy description.

The sheet was being twisted in Gildor’s hands.  “I never realize how insecure I am until it creeps up and hits me like it is now.”  Gildor looked to the window. “He could have had anyone. I think we both know that.  I can speak about myself with confidence, but there are moments when I do not quite feel it.”

“Oh sweetie...I did not mean to cause you grief. I should not have spoken of this, I just…” Glorfindel sighed. “I am so used to the brash ellon who wears his seduction as a badge of honor and seems so unaffected by most things. That was not fair of me to think that about you, and I am sorry. Obviously, if this cannot work, it cannot work. Neither of our mates would act against our wishes--not with this. Sometimes happiness comes at too high a price, which I well know--and no, I will not dwell on it. There is no shame in coveting your own mate. With him you share a sacred bond. I guess I have learned that being part of Three is not frightening. It is only more love to share, but not everyone feels this. Neither is right, neither is wrong. Smile for me? Please? I need to see my sleek wildcat.”

A little chuckle did bring the smile back to Gildor’s lips.  “Your sleek wildcat, huh? I like that.” Gildor tilted his head to the side.  “Maybe I just want to know everything that would happen between them. Maybe it is just because it is Fingon, because honestly, honey, watching you and Maedhros the other night was really erotic.  Really and truly… hmm. I guess it is just that it is Fingon. Which...maybe I just like this harmony that Mae Mae and I have, and I am not sure if what we have can be a trio. Yes, I engage in things with other men, and do I care about them?  I care about what happens to them, but every time someone tells us that they have found a partner, we wish them well, no tears, and move on. This is so different.” Gildor looked up at Glorfindel. “So what happens if--eh, I should not say it, but it is going to bother me.  What do we do if the two of them suddenly run off with each other?”

“It will never happen. Really, never happen,” Glorfindel replied quietly, in full earnest. “Both of them have a moral center. Fingon is a man of spiritual faith. He would perish before he would break his vows spoken before Eru in that manner. While I do not think Mae is religious, he has a deep honor. It would be like asking what one should do, were Elrond to become gay and run off with Erestor. I sincerely believe it is that absurd.”

“No, no, no, not Elrond and Erestor.  Elrond and…” Gildor drummed his fingers on the mattress.  “Nope. That man is so not gay. He is the most ungay man I know.  Alright. Maybe it is just me.” Gildor squirmed a little and said, “You probably never expected to hear this from me, but I have no desire to be fucked by someone other than Mae Mae.  He and I talked the other day, and I guess I figured that out about myself.” Gildor rubbed his arm. “He talked about wanting to maybe experiment with some things the other day, and...I do not think it is something I can help him with.  This is just very strange to even say.”

“Gildor, do you know about the…fuck. I am not sure I can talk about this without violating Fingon’s confidence, but I think it matters a great deal. Do you know about their first and only time?” Glorfindel reasoned that this query could do no harm, since Gildor so often knew everything anyway.

“I know that Fingon was dead within a week of it, and it bothered Maedhros for a long time,” said Gildor.

Glorfindel sighed heavily, hoping Fingon would forgive him this discussion. “I will leave out the excruciating details, because all you really need to know is that their bonding was physical and mental agony for Fingon--he was not honest with Mae. Wanting to just have it be over with, he told Mae whatever he thought Mae wanted to hear. I believe Fingon loved him and wanted his love in return, but the encounter went badly awry and brought the thought of sexual relations into further disfavor in his eyes. During Fingon’s first experiences with Erestor, Erestor was the recipient of his love. There was an expression of bitterness that Mae refused to ever be other than the giver. It was a monumental act of trust and hope for Fingon to offer himself to Erestor, but it mattered greatly to him to be able to have done that.  Early on in our collective relationship, most everything sexual with Fingon had a negative connection to his bonding with Mae. Is it possible that Mae could be reflecting on that time as well, viewing his first life with Fingon through the lens of greater wisdom, and this is why he asked?”

“Oh, so you know what it is that I do not really want to give him.  Well…I mean, if that is really the case...I was not sure if it was ‘the moment’ or if this is something deeper for Mae Mae.  I like Fingon--this is why all of these thoughts are so difficult for me. I really enjoy so much about him, because if I did not, I think we both know I’d be a right asshole to him.  That was part of my problem with Erestor. I refused to share you with him more than I had to.” Gildor rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I am already exhausted, and I practically just woke up.  I need food. Have you eaten? I promise we can return to the painting later. Trying to think on an empty stomach has never really helped. You know who I was working for, all those years ago, when I would come to Gondolin with messages?”  He raised a brow to see, for he had never divulged the information, and yet, by now, felt Glorfindel should be able to puzzle out the answer.

“Working for?” Glorfindel stared at Gildor, not understanding at all. “You were the prince of Nargothr-- oh, shit. Shit shit Shit Shit SHIT! And not a word was spoken by him or you, then or...ever.” This cast different light on so many things. “I sort of do not know what to do with this. Maybe I also need food.” The paint jars were capped carefully, the brush placed in a small container of oil. “I will prepare you something; it is the least I can do.”

“I can help!  I am useful!” Gildor flung off the sheet and began to head for the door, but came to a sudden halt.  “Right. Elrond. Celebrian. In the house. Where are my knickers…” He settled for one of the long nightshirts that Maedhros favored, obviously belonging to the redhead, for it dragged on the floor and the cuffs covered over Gildor’s hands part way and made him look quite a lot like a small child.  “Ready!”

What Gildor did not yet know was that his modesty was all for naught, for Elrond and Celebrian were in fact with Erestor at the school.  “I can see why it was worth it to come here to lecture,” said Elrond after Erestor took time over lunch to give a tour to his one-time lord and long-time friend.

“It was different then,” admitted Erestor.  “With all of the updates, it is much nicer now than it was before.  Not that it was not nice before--but you get what I mean.”

“So you work in the library now, or do you still lecture?” asked Celebrian.

“A little of both, but nothing full time.  This is Fingon’s library, and I am fine with that.  The Library of Imladris will always be my favorite; I do not think I would be able to take care of this library the same way that Fingon does.  I would always be comparing it to my old haunt across the sea,” Erestor said.

“No need to flatter me,” joked Elrond.

“No?  Damn. I thought I could finally get that raise,” Erestor jested back.

“Did I really never give you a raise?” mused Elrond.  “I had to have done so.” 

Beside him, Celebrian shook her head.  “He probably asked you two dozen times.”

“In my own defense--or, rather, in your defense,” corrected Erestor, “I would not have given me a raise, either.  Do you know how much I slacked off?”

Elrond narrowed his eyes slightly.  “I recall that you were a hard worker.”

“I was also a very good delegator.  I also--oh, did I ever tell you about the times Gildor and Glorfindel had late night romps in the library?”

Elrond’s eyes narrowed further.  “Times makes me believe more than once; your casual air tells me you allowed it.  Forget the raise; I should have fired you.”

“Probably.  Everyone else did,” Erestor answered.

Celebrian came to his rescue with her own observations.  “You were one of the best librarians because no one was intimidated to come and speak to you.  You were not one of those stuffy sorts who glare when someone suggests taking a reference volume from the collection, or shushes everyone no matter what.  I would have given you a raise.”

“Thank you.  I appreciate that.”  Erestor adjusted his scarf as they entered into the library.  “Now, I want to introduce you to some of the people who work here, but I want to warn you first.”

“Warn about what?” asked Elrond as he looked around to admire the ornate woodwork of the shelves.

“We have an archivist here who is personally very interested in Rivendell; he actually works for Quennar.  However, he has been telling everyone about all of his findings, and honestly, if he knows you are here, you may not have a chance to visit any of the shops this afternoon.”

“I am far more interested in the library than shopping,” said Celebrian.  “Do you think you can manage to put off our other little excursion until tomorrow?”

Elrond appeared contemplative.  “As long as we get there tomorrow,” he said, and Celebrian smiled mysteriously, and they spoke no further on their secret plans.

“Alright.  In that case…”  Erestor walked them from the door into the towering stacks of books, and back to a room used for meetings and other gatherings.  He rapped on the door with his knuckles and then opened it, and stepped aside so that Elrond and Celebrian could enter.

“Oh--oh, my,” Celebrian said as she accompanied her husband through the doorway.

Erestor peered in now, and then hastily shut the door behind him.  “Nasarion, who are all these people?” he demanded in a hissed voice despite the door being shut.

“I am so apologetic.  Really, I am!” It was Inarata who answered, not Nasarion, who was in the back of the room shrugging.  “You see, I only meant to tell one person, a very nice woman in my history classes, and then as it would happen, she knew of another two people, and now we have many.”

“I can see that,” agreed Erestor, for the room was beyond capacity.  Some of the students were perched on the tables, and others stood at the back.  A few of them also either shared chairs or sat on someone else’s lap. “Elrond, I am so sorry,” Erestor said.  “It was just supposed to be a few of the library workers and archivists.”

“Quite alright,” Elrond said, and as he spoke, any remaining sounds in the room were cut off abruptly.  “I take it you are all interested in the history of Imladris?”

“Oh my Eru, it is really him,” whispered one of the younger students to another.

“Listen to his accent!” another excitedly said in a hushed voice.

Celebrian leaned in to whisper to Elrond.  “I do believe you have fans.”

“Nonsense,” he replied back softly.  “They are all just enthusiastic to learn more about Middle-earth’s culture and landmarks.”

Celebrian and Erestor exchanged a look that declared otherwise.  “Who here has a question for the Lord of Imladris?” asked Celebrian.  Everyone raised an arm into the air, including Nasarion. “Well, I think we know how we are going to spend the afternoon,” she said.

\-----

“We should make pancakes.  Peanut butter pancakes--no, pancakes with peanut butter sauce--no, walnut pancakes with caramel sauce.”  Gildor was already amassing ingredients despite not knowing what he was going to make, which was even more comical with what he was wearing.  “Peanut butter pancakes, and we can spread jelly on them and roll them up and have breakfast hors d'oeuvres.”

Amused, Glorfindel indulged his friend. “Whatever you wish. Let it never be said I kept a man from the breakfast of his heart’s desire. Tell you what. Since you are focused on toppings, I will make the actual pancakes. We have some beautifully clabbered buttermilk here, so I need just a few moments to mix a batter.”

“Alright!  I was a little uncertain about these sleeves anyhow,” admitted Gildor as he flapped them about.  “Actually, would it be terribly rude of me to bathe and dress and just come back here and discover that you made me something delicious to eat?  It does not even need to be pancakes.”

“I told you I would be glad to cook for you, silly goose,” Glorfindel chuckled. “Wait. Goose does not work for you at all. Peacock, maybe? Or maybe one of those really flamboyant...well. Yes, run along!” For emphasis he delivered a playful smack to Gildor’s bottom and busied himself with the dry ingredients.

“I am a flamboyant peacock wildcat, first, last, and only of my kind,” declared Gildor as he bowed with flourish and then took himself out into the yard. 

When he returned, it was to stand sopping wet outside and knock on the door, Maedhros’ nightshirt held in a bundle at arm’s length.  “I forgot a towel! Flamboyant peacock wildcats are not known for their ability to plan well for the short term!”

“We cannot have that,” Glorfindel agreed, swiftly appearing with two towels to manage both hair and body. One he tossed over Gildor’s head with a flourish, and the other he wrapped around his torso, tucking it in snugly. Then he raced back to the griddle, just in time to flip the perfectly bubbling pancake.

“Can I help?” asked Gildor.  “Also, Asfaloth told me that Elrond and Celebrian are out for the day, which means naked breakfast can be a reality.”  He patted the towel that was over his hair and tried not to dribble too much on the floor. Just in time, he shut the door as a trio of dogs came racing into the kitchen.  “I am so happy to have my babies here,” he crooned as the larger dogs turned their attention to Gildor. “Oh, we should take them for a walk later. I have a feeling Mae Mae will have his hands full with Fingon, and my puppers are used to regular walks with him.”

“That would be lovely. If you do not mind, perhaps we could fuss with Asfaloth for a bit and he could walk with us. We could all walk, I mean. I do not pay enough attention to him and he is so happy when he is prettied up a little. Then all of us would have a nice time.” A satisfying ‘plop’ ensued, when the golden pancake was plated atop its predecessor and offered to Gildor. “Your pancakes, Sir Flamboyant Peacock Wildcat Inglorion,” Glorfindel spoke with an sweeping wave of his arm.

“Ah, thank you, you do such fine work here at the Cottage of Lost Gay.  I mean, Play. Maybe I meant the other thing. Jam!” Gildor now saw the array of flavors set out for him, and he selected a mixed berry and an apricot.  The top pancake was spread with a liberal amount of jam, then tightly rolled, only to be cut into slices and turned on the flat surface, so that he had tiny little pancake jam rolls that resembled the fish and rice rolls Fingon was so fond of.  The second was coated with apricot jam, and was given the same treatment, so that he now had alternate flavors on the plate. “If we take a walk, can we wander our way to the tiny market down the opposite way of the way we always go? We never made it there last time, and I know there is not much there, but I would like to see it all the same.”

“Of course we can,” dissembled Glorfindel, who had imagined a long stroll through the more isolated and rustic portions of their environs. “Anything for you.” That part he meant sincerely. Only the beginnings of how much he had missed being able to speak with Gildor in privacy had filtered though.

“Here!  Try the fruits of your labors,” suggested Gildor as he held up one of the bite-sized rolls.  He himself had already eaten four of them and was reaching for a fifth with his other hand.

“Mmmm, very nice. I think Fingon would like these. Erestor would like them too. These need to grace our table more often.” Already Glorfindel had begun energetically washing up, for it would not do for Fingon to come downstairs and find the kitchen anything less than perfect.

The breakfast finger food made for a fast meal, and after a thorough cleaning of the kitchen and acquisition of appropriate attire, Asfaloth was summoned, and the three left the cottage with all of the dogs happily along for the adventure.  While neither of the poodles needed leashes with Gildor there, DogDog found far too many distractions not to be tethered. Gildor was the one to reinitiate the conversation. “When my father died, I became the head of the house as far as Maedhros and Fingon were concerned.  I spent a fair amount of time with them--I daresay, that was when I fell in love with Maedhros, but I dared not so much as hint at that. The three of us spent so much time in council--hours, days, weeks at times. I worked for Fingon, not just as his messenger.” Gildor found a stick to the side of the road and tossed it.  His dogs trotted off to investigate it; DogDog showed no interest. “I was his spy.”

Glorfindel cast his eyes down. “I can only imagine how unfavorably Erestor was viewed; ‘the drunken agitator of Turgon’s Gondolin.’ With gay me as his puppy-love sidekick. Oh well, it was true enough. There is something I want to ask you, come to think of it. You and I. You were the first to ever seduce me, the one who taught me the pleasures of the male body. Did you ever consider the danger to me of being found out? I was too soaked in need and lust to try to save myself from discovery, so others did it for me. Much later on when I thought about those years, I wondered whether I had any real place in your heart? I know I was only one of many you took to bed. Would it have mattered to you, if Turgon had executed me? I never had the courage to ask you this in Rivendell, for fear of the answer. I realize I am asking about ‘you of a long time ago,’ but always I...you do not have to answer. Probably the question is completely unfair.”

“There is a lot there for me to address, so let me start at the top,” offered Gildor.  “Once Fingon knew that Erestor was alive, he wanted him to be part of his court. Fingon actually had a plan for me to make an attempt to get Erestor--and you, and the girls, and that was where it all fell apart, just too many people--out of Gondolin.  Fingon thought Erestor was underutilized.” Gildor tossed another stick down the path, gave Asfaloth a sideways look, and then added, “Fingon already knew at that point that Erestor is gay.”

Glorfindel raised his head. “Let me guess. Fëanor,” he said, without the kindest expression.

“Sort of.  It had something to do with letters that Maedhros and Fingon found in Fëanor’s attic when they were younger.”  Gildor praised the dog that brought back the stick and tossed it further off this time. Both dogs elegantly bounded off to retrieve the thing their silly master kept throwing away, because honestly, who throws away a good stick?  “Fëanor basically said it was nothing; Fingon seemed to think Erestor thought otherwise and that Erestor had put himself in a self-imposed purgatory by living in Gondolin. Of course, at that time, neither he nor I knew about this bullshit clinic fuckery.  Speaking of all of that, and I am digressing now, but how the fuck did Erestor’s parents pay for that? During the time that Erestor and I were together in the Second Age, he used to talk about life living in a tent from when he was growing up and even into his early adulthood.  His father did nothing, which I get the feeling from Erestor’s stories was due to deep depression. His mother worked at a library, one of the first, but libraries were not held in the same regard, because, well, they lived in a tent. So…who paid for it? I would wager Fëanor...or Indis.  I could see Indis coming up with that dumbass idea.” Gildor sighed. “Poor Erestor. And I just added to the issues he had,” he said with true remorse in his voice.

“I never thought about that. You are right, Ress always talked about being very poor. There was no way....what a fucking...shit. For someone to do that to him…” Glorfindel knuckled away a tear. “He always told me in Gondolin what it was like back in Valinor, for ‘people like me.’ At the time I could not possibly imagine the extent to which he was trying to shield me.” His husband had deserved so much more. That and, the tragedy of Erestor’s life never seemed to be done unfolding. “Gildor, I may not be able to let this go. Ress and I both agreed to participate in the wedding that Indis wants, so she can celebrate her grandson. I promised Fingon, but...I have to know if your surmise is true. I have to know if she did this to Ress and now wants to once again use him for her plaything. I do not know what I am even asking. Just, fuck.”

“Oh, please.  Indis sees everyone as her playthings in this family, and Fingon is probably her favorite puppet of all.  Just think--why do you think she was so close to him? He is fantastic, no? Pretty, talented, athletic, almost died as a child--there are any number of topics when he was growing up that would gain attention and fawning from friends.  I bet she paraded him around like her own little trophy. Ew, gross,” exclaimed Gildor when one of the dogs happily brought him back a dead squirrel, body flopping limply from the dog’s mouth. “Wait, where is the… ah, there is the tail,” he said disdainfully as the other dog pranced forward with the tail in her mouth.  “Uh, good job, puppers. Why not go--oh, nope, we are going to stop here to eat that. Alright.” Gildor looked down with a frown as his dogs tore apart the unfortunate creature. 

Asfaloth, who had been silent until now, covered his eyes with his massive hands.  “Tell me when it is over,” he pleaded.

“Maybe if you were all horse for a little while?” Glorfindel suggested. I could keep my hand on you and we could just walk with your eyes closed. They are good dogs; this is what dogs do. It is their version of fertilizing the roses.” Compassionately, he placed an arm around Asfaloth’s shoulders. “I am sorry you had to see that.”

“Walking with four legs is more tiring,” said Asfaloth as he peeked between his fingers as one of the dogs played with a leg by tossing it into the air and catching it.  He shuddered and covered his eyes again. “It is an herbivore thing,” he said.

Gildor now patted Asfaloth’s other shoulder.  “Sorry. They think they are doing good things.  They go out hunting with Mae Mae and his brothers, and while they know not to eat the game, squirrels and rats are completely acceptable.”  While the dogs finished, Gildor looked at Glorfindel. “Do you know what Mae Mae and I told Indis when she insisted on a wedding?”

“Uhm, it was impolite?” Glorfindel hazarded.

“Not really.  Just a simple word.  No.” Gildor patted Asfaloth’s shoulder.  “You can open your eyes, dear.” To Glorfindel, he added, “Do you know what word Fingon has trouble saying?”

“Oh,” Glorfindel realized dully, feeling incredibly naive and unsophisticated. And, discouragingly, like Gildor and Mae knew his husband better than he and Erestor did. “I see.”

But Gildor, seeing the opportunity for a joke, said, “Not ‘oh’, but close.  ‘Oh’ rhymes with the Westron word for it.” Now they were in motion again, and Gildor shoved his hands into his pockets.  “Ever notice how Fingon turns a lot of things into negotiations? He walked right into that with Indis. He would have been better off speaking exclusively with my father about gaining the information from the clinic.  Indis is impatient. She just goes from one thing that tickles her fancy to the next. Because I have been living in Tirion for so long, I get to see all of the court intrigue. This is the power that Indis has--manipulation over the members of her own family.  She has zero power over the court; there has been, in fact, only one queen who had any power in court. For bonus points this round, name the queen--or, name the king she was married to.”

Glorfindel’s lips parted while he tried to think. “Uh, all I can think of is Melian and I am pretty sure that is way off. I am no good at this, Gildor. Why did he want to wed with me? Erestor at least knows how to manage in all these situations requiring sophistication. I am just…” he shook his head. “A husband.”

“Melian...forgot about that.  I was thinking Noldorin rulers.  I award you the points for your answer; tell me if you have a guess about the Noldor or if you need a hint.  As for Fingon, he loves you, that is obvious. The other day when you confronted him, the fact that he allowed you to subjugate him--I am still a little stunned by that.  He relinquished some of his control to you. That is a powerful thing for him to have done in that way,” said Gildor.

Glorfindel’s gut instinct was to gloss away from Gildor’s last words. More time was needed, to process that part. “Oh, ah...well, Galadriel was not a queen and that was not really anywhere near here, and Turgon’s wife was not around for, uhm, and there is your mother but...no...Fingon’s wife, that was sort of a mess and...we should not be really talking about Nerdanel, and wait, are we talking about Finarfin’s... ?...oh shoot, now I cannot even remember her…oh dammit Gildor, just say who you mean. I already feel like I have run through my daily quota of Stupid.”

“Fingon.  I was trying to help make the point about him and negotiating.  He allowed her a place on his council, and she, not a member of his court, was regent any time he left during his reign.”  Gildor patted Glorfindel on the head. “You are not stupid. We are just plagued with too many similar sounding names in this family.”

Remembering that Fingon had actually told him he personally could dictate Fingon’s decisions as King when the time came, Glorfindel continued to look down at the ground. Telling Gildor about the incident would feel like betrayal, but that those words had been spoken by Fingon at all caused Gildor’s observations to bite that much more deeply. “It hurts to recognize that you are correct in your observations,” Glorfindel replied sadly. “I love my husband. What to do about this is beyond me--I know, I was a Lord once, but the only thing that meant anything to me was trying to help those beholden to my house. I can only hope that if or when the time comes that I can help lift some of Fingon’s burden.”

Gildor kept walking, but turned a a full spin, seemingly checking for anyone else on the path.  When he was satisfied that he, Glorfindel, and Asfaloth were alone, he said, “My father does not think it will happen.  He thinks that Indis is unwilling to give up her position, small though it may be. If she is not queen, what is she? It is the only identity she has, really.  Well, Maedhros calls her ‘Bitchface’, but…” Gildor licked his lips. “I always worry what I should or should not share from my father. He has keen foresight, but then, as my mother points out, he was unable to predict his own death.”

Smiling weakly, Glorfindel slipped his hand into Gildor’s. “I hope he is right. I think we both know that I at least do not want it. Hearing it lift my spirits a little, even though really only time can tell.” He sighed. “Indis. How can one person cause so much grief? Honestly, I have never heard a single person speak fully well of her. I would not want that for myself. I could not live with that, for myself.” Suddenly, a violent, snorting laugh overcame him. “Eru forgive me, can you imagine the look on her face if Fingon and Mae  _ did  _ bond?” The golden-haired one doubled over in peals of laughter that were barely controllable. And the laughter did not stop. “She would--ha ha!--oh, I would pay gold to see her expression!”

“Hmm,  you are making the case for this seem more appealing,” admitted Gildor.

Glorfindel hiccupped, tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks. Another chuckle erupted. “Might be the fastest a wedding was ever cancelled,” he grinned. “I would not blame you for striking me down for such comments but...oh...for a few moments longer let me cling to the dream.” An unusual, high-pitched giggle issued forth, choked off by another violent hiccup. Both Asfaloth’s ears rotated and pricked upwards.

“Are you ill?” the horse asked with concern.

“No. Not ill,” Glorfindel assured him, still grinning. “Best I have felt all day.”

“Glad to hear it.  Maybe I should just share all of my father’s observations with you, then,” said Gildor.  He tried to think back to the initial conversation at the start of their walk, but eventually asked, “What else did you want to discuss from the good old days?”

“I--” Glorfindel suddenly sobered. He recalled what Gildor had not answered, and lost all his courage. “I am...whatever you wish to say about your father, please continue,” he smiled, dissembling.

“Oh, gosh, I do not know where to begin with him,” admitted Gildor.  “I thought there were other things about Fingon and Erestor you wanted to know about.  Or me, and Fingon, and all of that. As for my father, he just makes predictions and he seems to be right a lot of the time.  I think you would enjoy talking to him some time. He excels at talking,” Gildor added.

“Um, now I just feel confused,” Glorfindel said. “If you mean the you and Mae and Fingon thing, we can go with that. I am afraid to ask what I do not know about Erestor. Or Fingon. I…” he trailed off, struggling against a growing sense of dejection, wondering what the hell was the matter with him.

“Group hug!” declared Asfaloth, and he wrapped an arm around each of the others and squished them close.  “I am going to take the dogs for a run, which is something I am an expert in, so the two of you can talk.”  Asfaloth slipped the leash for DogDog away from Glorfindel and jogged off. Somehow, Gildor’s dogs just knew to follow, leaving Glorfindel and Gildor strolling alone down the path.

Gildor took hold of Glorfindel’s hand and swung them arms back and forth between them.  “I wonder, if Mae Mae and Fingon bonded, if I would be there, or if they would want to be on their own for that.”

“I was there when Fingon took Erestor. And Erestor supported us when it was our turn,” Glorfindel answered basfully, comforted by the affection shown. “Maybe I am wrong but somehow I imagine them happening on their own. I have this feeling I cannot shake. Probably it is stupid. I just…” he bit his lip, uncertain if he should keep talking or not.

“Nothing is stupid, Finde.  Speak your mind,” encouraged Gildor.

“I do not think anything will change, except that they will feed a deep-seated need each of them has to find completion. I think what you said is more accurate than you know. They just need to fuck each other. Except this time it needs to be right for both of them. Their past is one big fabric of loose ends. That...just that,” Glorfindel told him.

“When we were leaving, we stopped by to see my parents right before we dropped the dogs and the capybara off with Maglor.  I told my father I would see him soon, but he had this strange look and told me he did not think so. He said Maedhros and I had ‘unfinished business’ and that he would not see me for a while.  I always take these things with a grain of salt, or a handful as the case may be, but he seemed certain about this. Then he said something about how Maedhros would be the most changed from our visit.  I thought at first, we I gave up the drugs, maybe it would be his drinking...but…” Gildor sighed. “I found his flask the other night under the bed. I cannot prove it, but I think he has been drinking again.  So maybe this change has to do with Fingon.”

“Oh...I am sorry, Gildor.” Glorfindel remembered Elrond’s words. “I know that particular disappointment too well. But it is not the end. He may try again. Maybe he was not truly ready, inside of himself. Erestor is proof that it can happen, and Mae did not seem to struggle as much with...maybe I should shut up because I do not know Mae well enough to be speaking about this. But thank you for telling me what your father said. Somehow that comforts, though like you I cannot really know what it means. How do you feel, about finding the flask? I will always listen.” His arm slipped around Gildor’s waist, in what he hoped was a show of support.

Gildor leaned against Glorfindel.  “I expected it. I know that is horrible to say, but I just did.  He went through the withdrawal, it sucked, he got depressed, and then… suddenly things were better.  I think I knew. I should probably just tell him, so that he does not sneak around. At least if he does it in front of me, I know how much he has had and I can cut him off if needed.”

“Mae suffered,” Glorfindel agreed. “I guess I can admit to you that Elrond feared this would be the outcome...but Mae tried. He loved you enough to try, and I know he yet has your love. Maybe if he stays long enough with us...who knows?” 

“Staying here will not bring his hand back, and that is at the root of most of his depression.  Just about everything that causes him grief is traced back to that--and because of that, you-know-who blames himself for Mae Mae’s depression, and...if only there was a way for him to get his hand back, right?  If I thought praying for it would work, so help me, I would be on my knees right now,” Gildor said.

“I wish...I would give up one of mine, Gildor. I mean it.” Filled with empathy, tears pooled in Glorfindel’s eyes. “I cannot imagine how you feel, if it hurts me so to know that he suffers with this. I know Fingon’s guilt. I wish it were given to us to...have you ever considered journeying to Estë?”

“Mae Mae wants less to do with the Valar than I,” warned Gildor.  “Even if I got him there, it is not like she just opens up a box of spare parts and slaps a new hand on him.”

“I understand.” Glorfindel pulled his friend into an embrace. “I was grasping at straws.”

“At least when he is here, he acts like when he is at home.  He has not used the prosthetic once while he has been here this time.  Even when we had the party, he did not try to hide his stump. I know that his depression increases when he wears that fake hand, so at least there is some hope that things can get better.”

“I know he is probably sick of my fawning but he really is so beautiful. I genuinely do not see his missing hand. Why would I? I mean, look at him…” the blond said yearningly. “Please forgive me, for displaying such preoccupation and lust toward your husband. I should be ashamed, for I am greatly blessed already...but there is something about him. Listen to me,” Glorfindel shook his head, laughing. “I do not think I could ever admit this so enthusiastically to anyone but you.”

With an impish grin, Gildor said, “Seems fair enough trade for me being so fixated on your husband’s penises.  Yes, Mae Mae is fucking gorgeous. He is nearly impossibly beautiful. He is finally starting to believe it. He used to just deny it, but this morning I said something as he was getting out of bed, and he responded ‘if you say so’, which is a huge improvement, made possible by you telling him what Fingon and I have tried to for years.”

“I am too lucky. I am surrounded by beauty. Asfaloth...if there is a more stunning horse I have never seen him or her. Erestor...still I get chills just at the sight of him. Fingon...even you.” Bashfully, he gave Gildor a quick peck on the cheek.

“Well, you do have the only Peacock Wildcat known to exist in your presence,” teased Gildor.  “Ah, and Asfaloth returns--if you have any last minute questions, now is the time for them, dear.  Your horse looks displeased, and my dogs look tickled, and yours looks confused, so I can only imagine what they did.”

“WouldyouhavecaredifTurgonhadkilledmeinGondolinforwhatweweredoing?” blurted out. Horrified, Glorfindel clapped his hand over his mouth and felt his cheeks burn crimson. In a much smaller voice, he added, “Can we both pretend I did not just say something?”

“It came up in conversation one night when I was having dinner with Turgon and Idril,” Gildor said quickly.  “He wanted the name of someone. He wanted to make an example of someone. He started rattling off names. He named you.  I laughed at him and told him that was preposterous. He thought your marriage was a cover. I argued otherwise. He demanded someone else he could investigate.  I gave him Enerdhil. So, yes, I did care about you back then. I cared about you in Rivendell. I just also found a way to use you against Erestor the second time around, something I am not proud of.”

Unable to speak or raise his eyes to Gildor, Glorfindel turned partly away from him, and fully away from Asfaloth’s approach. Tears streamed from his closed eyes; one hand grasped his lower face. All his effort centered on silencing the sobs that threatened to burst from his chest. Controlling his emotions with deep breaths. Slowly in, slowly out. After all these years, he did not understand why it mattered. But it did.

Gildor pulled Glorfindel into his arms and kissed the golden waves.  “When Fingon made the changes he did, I seduced Enerdhil so that he would make a show of it, and to confirm for Turgon what I told him was true.  Enerdhil was a slovenly, disgusting ellon. It felt greasy whenever he touched me. Were you the only person in Gondolin with whom I had a relationship?  No. I was trying to protect you and a half-dozen others just like you.” Gildor squeezed his eyes shut. “I was protecting Erestor, too. Once Fingon told me what he knew, well, do not hold this against Erestor because I sincerely believe he does not recall, he was always so fucking drunk, but...I may have...taken care of some things for him back in Gondolin, in dark alleyways and things like that.  You can punch me now if you want. I get used to it.”

“No,” Glorfindel whispered, snaking one arm around Gildor’s waist. “I appreciate that you gave what he needed, as much as I would have done a great deal to be in your stead at those times. My question makes it obvious that I doubted you. Always wondered if you cared for me at all. I am sorry for my utter lack of faith. You see it…” He shuddered and forced himself to take another deep breath. “It became hard to believe I meant anything to anyone, beyond being someone’s fuck.” He wiped his tears away as best he could. “Thank you. Thank you for what you did for me. For us.”

“Remember--I was the one who kept inviting Erestor to join us when I would come visit you in Rivendell.  I was hopeful, amid my acidity.” Gildor helped to wipe away the rest of Glorfindel’s tears as Asfaloth approached.  “What did my precious babies do?”

“Well…”  Asfaloth tentatively held out the leash to Glorfindel.  “I misjudged the, uh, strength and stamina of the little one.”

Gildor tilted his head to the side.  “I do not follow.”

“You like puppers, right?”  Asfaloth nervously tapped his knuckles together.  “I think there may be more puppers soon.”

Gildor looked down at the littlest of the dogs.  “DogDog…” he said warningly.

DogDog wagged his tail.

Gildor looked at the male poodle, who also had a happy expression.  “What are you grinning about? This interloper just jumped on your lady.”

“He ate another squirrel while the other thing was going on,” said Asfaloth disdainfully.

“Oh dear,” Glorfindel said, trying to imagine the appearance of the future puppies and failing. “On behalf of Fingon, I apologize.” DogDog wagged his tail some more, pranced in place, and buried his nose in Glorfindel’s crotch for a deep sniff prior to trotting off up the path.

“I may be partially at fault,” said Asfaloth, ears tilted back.  “I might have encountered an adorable--”

“Nooo,” groaned Glorfindel.

“--speckled mare--”

“Asfaloth…” Glorfindel shook his head.

“--who I will affectionately refer to as wife number 16,742.”

Gildor’s eyes bulged.  “Well. Knowing that, I feel I have lived my life in moderation.”

“Why do I feel like we cannot go out in public?” Glorfindel fretted. “Asfaloth, you really should not impregnate every mare that crosses your path, however much you are a pinnacle of equine perfection. It really seems a bit much, sometimes. Especially when the mares are with our friends and guests. I mean, you live with elves to whom you hardly need to explain sexual urges, but...really?”

Asfaloth tried to look remorseful, but his large eyes were unable to convey the deception.  “Those sound like big words...pinnacle of equine whaaaat? I am just a horse. Neigh. Whinnny.  Neigh neigh.” He snatched the leash back and started to walk in the direction of the cottage. “I will take myself to the stable for a time out.  Have fun at the market!”

“All I can say is it is a good thing he is your horse and not mine, because I would probably wrongfully encourage his...steedly stamina,” Gildor admitted.

“Asfaloth!” Glorfindel cried out, bringing the horse back to a halt. “I love you! I just want you to try to not think with your penis every time you see a mare! We will see you soon!” He watched while the long ears danced back and forth and described quite a few interesting patterns while Asfaloth continued on his way. Lowering his voice, Glorfindel glanced up at Gildor. “That is just it--I am not sure he can be encouraged any more than he already is. At your most amorous and adventurous you did not bed every single male whose cock crossed your path.” Glorfindel paused, noticing that Gildor seemed to be studying the clouds with great interest. “Though maybe not for lack of trying,” he admitted.

“I even propositioned Elrond once,” Gildor said unabashedly.  “He was pretty young at the time. He said absolutely nothing, gave me the stare of doom, and left the room.  I did it in front of Ereinion, and he stood there and laughed and asked ‘how did that work for you?’...and then I said something suggestive to Ereinion, who just shook his head and left as well.  I appreciated the fact we lived in a time when I could say things like that to kings and lords and not have threats of execution for it. Anyhow… to market, to market,” he said in sing-song, looping his arm with Glorfindel’s.  “I heard someone there sells exotic roasted nuts, and you know how much I like nuts, roasted or otherwise.”

“Elrond and Ereinion, huh? We will find you some nuts, and who knows what else? Oh. Oh my.  Wait. Now I have to ask. You never tried for Turgon, did you?”

“Even I have my limits.  Besides, Turgon is a very unattractive man.  Well, it is the grouchy facial expression.” Gildor tilted his head.  “You never heard about the whole thing with Fingon’s brother-in-law, did you?”

Once again Glorfindel’s face washed over in confusion. “Brother-in...you mean Eöl? You cannot mean Celegorm...well, in this family I suppose you could mean anyone.” He patted Gildor’s forearm. “Do tell, whomever you mean.”

“The brother of his wife.  So, probably not something he brings up, I imagine.  He never met the fellow. His wife and her brother lived in Nevrast.  Her brother was gay, and young, and he thought he was in love, and he offered comfort to Turgon once things settled down--and you can imagine the reaction from Turgon.  It is uncertain whether he died of grief or killed himself, the brother that is, but...it was all covered up quickly by Turgon. It was one of the main factors that...shit, what was her name…”  Gildor squeezed his eyes shut. “Calarë. That was his wife’s name. Calarë married Fingon and produced an heir specifically because she did not want to see Turgon in power as high king. So, no, propositioning Turgon would have been a terrible idea.”

Glorfindel found he was seeing Gildor through entirely new eyes, of late. “You hid all of this so well. Maybe ‘hid’ is the wrong word, though I think there must have been some element of discretion in your part. I feel like I did not know you at all, or only knew a version of you, and...I wish I knew what to say. I lived in ignorance, apparently.”

“Not ignorance,” disputed Gildor.  “You were being protected. The less you knew, the less you were involved.  Uncle Angrod rejected you--why should you have had all of these other burdens upon you?  Most of my encounters with men were secret, shady, temporary liaisons. You were different.  You still are.” Gildor reached in with his free arm and squeezed Glorfindel’s hand. “It was probably sadly better for you in Gondolin than it would have been elsewhere, actually.  At least in Gondolin, you were mostly safe. Sometimes the only drama in Gondolin was who stole the last piece of cake from Salgant’s larder.”

A snort erupted from Glorfindel, who stopped walking. Turning, his eyes raised to Gildor, and he leaned up, clearly desirous of offering a kiss. A real kiss. “I misunderstood you in so many ways. It was unfair. But now I understand something else--I believe that the heart does not lie. This is why a part of me never lost a connection to you. Here.” His hand laid now lightly over Gildor’s heart.

Gildor tapped his nose against Glorfindel’s.  “Nah. I was an asshole, too. You were just a sweetheart that made me reconsider some of my assholery back in those days.  I think we are both fortunate to have each other in our lives. I did miss you an awful lot. If we decide to stay, you know we will only leave if you and the others do.”

“I would like that very much,” Glorfindel smiled brightly, unoffended when Gildor did not offer more. His hand cupped around the fair face. “I feel like everyone who means most to me in this world is at home now. I wish Elrond could stay too, though I know that will not happen. I want to find something for him, at the market. Something to show my appreciation for his effort in coming here to help us. Me not being a healer, I am counting on you to tell me if something especially healer-ish catches your eye.”

“Absolutely!  You know how much I enjoy shopping, especially when it is someone else’s money!”  Gildor tilted Glorfindel’s chin up just a little more so that he could lightly brush their lips together before he set off again down the road, Glorfindel’s arm still linked with his.  “Little markets are so much fun. That is where all the hidden treasures can be found.”

“The trick here is knowing which are the vendors that truly do excellent work and which court the tourists with wares of lesser quality. There is sadly little overlap. Yet one with such an eye for finery as yourself should be untroubled.” Glorfindel hoped Gildor did not see the glow of bashful pleasure that suffused him from the kiss, though he pressed himself toward the arm that held his own a little more closely. “I cannot be too extravagant, but perhaps you would allow me to treat you to a luncheon while we are there. There is an elleth that has a very small booth--she makes the most delicious steamed rolls, with sweets or seafood or vegetables inside. There are sauces for dipping. I have never had them anywhere else, and no amount of batting my eyes at her has gained me any information beyond that their preparation is a family secret. Of course, she too is married, so that might be part of why my charm has proven useless. Still...they are very tasty and I wish I had the recipe.”

“You want a recipe?  I excel at extracting rare recipes,” said Gildor, accepting the challenge.  “Now, as for Elrond...perhaps not something of a healing nature. He likes books, you know.  I am sure we can find something interesting for him that he does not have in his own library at home.”  

\----

“How big was the library in Imladris?” 

Erestor looked from the student asking the question to Elrond.  They exchanged amused looks, for this was obviously something Erestor could have shared years ago with the young, enquiring minds, but Elrond allowed the indulgences nonetheless.  “In volumes, we had well over a hundred thousand at one point. In terms of size, it was two stories tall.”

This garnered ooos and ahhhhs from those in attendance.  The group had grown since the beginning of the session, and now some of the students were even sitting on the floor.  “Who else has a question?” asked Erestor.

  
  


###  Day 18 - Afternoon

“Oh, these are all lovely.  I want…all of them. Literally, all of them.”  Gildor lifted another jar to his nose and sniffed the candle within.  “Finde, this one is called ‘summer breeze’. Come smell this one!”

“I shall,” Glorfindel laughed. “But I warn you that you should eat with me before you make your purchases. I read a scientific paper about this. Shoppers are more susceptible to impulse buying when hungry than when not.” The vendor glared at this pronouncement, causing Glorfindel to shrug semi-apologetically. “I do agree that ‘summer breeze’ is quite nice. I think Fingon would like this ‘pine musk’ and Ress...hm. Oh yes, here it is: ‘Peaches and cream.’ Well, I have my selections for later, I think.”

“You are, as always, so very wise.”  Gildor set the candle back onto the shelf and turned to walk away.

“If you buy them now, I can give you a special discount,” offered the vendor.  “Buy three, and one is free.”

Gildor, faced away from the vendor, caught Glorfindel’s eye.  He gave a little unseen smirk, and then turned around, a frown on his lips as he looked at the wares on the table and wooden shelves.  “Hmm, I am not sure...at the other market, they were selling them three for four as well.”

“Then, buy two, and you can choose a free one,” offered the vendor.

Gildor traced a finger around one of the jars.  “I was thinking more along the lines of, I buy six, and you throw in four extra ones, and then I tell all of my friends on the mainland about your fantastic assortment of candles.”

The vendor considered this almost long enough for Gildor to give up, and eventually held out her hand.  They shook, and Gildor snagged ‘summer breezes’ from the shelf. “This one is going to be for me,” he declared.

Twenty minutes later, he and Glorfindel were approaching a stall with delicious scents wafting from it.  While Glorfindel was unburdened, Gildor had a box of ten different candle jars in his arms. “This does smell good,” Gildor agreed.

“I always order one with seafood, one with chicken. And one with nut cream inside, please manage to control your impression of that,” Glorfindel begged. “The last is for later, for I have yet to manage to eat three of these in one go. However I do admit that the vegetable option is uncommonly tasty; there are many kinds of herbs, plus aged cheese in addition to what I believe are chickpeas. You have only to tell me what interests you.”

Gildor set the box down on a communal bench and sat down beside it.  “Can I tell you something you are going to probably laugh at?” He covered his hands over his mouth, and then parted his fingers just slightly so that Glorfindel was barely able to hear a muffled, “When I was with Erestor in the Second Age, and we pretty much just at leaves and berries and shit like that, I probably felt better than I ever had, so I would be interested in trying the vegetable one.”

“Why would I laugh at that?” Glorfindel queried, tilting his head. “I mostly eat no meat because of my spouses so this is a treat for me. Something not worth preparing at home if I am the only one eating it. The vegetables are good, though, and good for me. I stopped caring much long ago about eating meat regularly. Vegetable it is. I will get you one with cheese, and one without. I think both are delicious.” Momentarily he had the elleth’s attention, and placed their order with a winsome smile. “My friend from the mainland is here, and I have told him of your delectables. Has business been brisk?”

“Business is always good.  How is business for you in the big market?” she asked as she began to assemble the order for him.

“I do best when lots of tourists come. Lately still lifes featuring flowers and other flora unique to the island have been popular...but it is hard to maintain interest in painting the same thing over and over. New subjects are appreciated.” He winked at Gildor, on the side turned away from her. “Then again you prepare these same delicious foods daily, so perhaps I should not say that. I did not mean to sound snobbish,” he said contritely.

At the bench, Gildor tilted his head back and sniffed the air.  “There is something...exotic,” he mused. “It seems like...well, obviously ginger, but...is that a hint of saffron?”

The vendor only smiled and shook her head.

Gildor stood now and came a little closer with his head cocked to the side.  “No, not saffron...that cannot possibly be kalonji,” he said with an uncertain look.

“Mmm...maybe,” the vendor said, still smiling as she wrapped each of the items in large leaves.

Closer now, Gildor sniffed again, and then turned his head and sneezed.  “There is definitely chili pepper.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose.  “Sorry. I am a merchant from the mainland. My trade varies, but spices are a large part of it. I just had some lovely dill and fenu and garlic in a few weeks ago.”

“You sell fenu?”  The vendor looked interested.  “Do you have carom, too?”

“I have many things,” Gildor said as he wiped his nose and put his handkerchief away.  “Normally I do not take orders while I am here on vacation, but then again, most of the food I have eaten here on the island is generally bland.  Good for tourists; not the best for eating.”

The vendor laughed and nodded.  “Too true. I like your friend,” she said to Glorfindel.  “Here. I have something for you to try,” she said, and from another part of the stall, she brought them each a bowl with broth, oddly shaped mushrooms, spinach, and a few other vegetables.  “Special recipe, for those who appreciate fine spices. Try it! I will make a list of what I need. Shipping fees are getting expensive from the suppliers I have on the mainland. If I can use one person, it will be so much easier.”

The beautiful blue-green eyes widened. “Oh. Oh my. Soooo good. Both my...I have two very close relations who would enjoy this so much. I wish there was someway to take servings home, I would gladly buy this for them. Gildor, you have to taste this.”

The woman looked affronted.  “This is not for purchase. This is my specialty.”

“I completely understand,” Gildor said quite seriously as he picked up the bowl before him and sampled the broth first.  “That’s why I could smell saffron,” he said with a smile. “This is so amazing--you have every right to be proud of this.”  Gildor took another spoonful, this one with mushrooms and carrots. “So what is a wonderful woman like you doing out on the street here?  You should have your own restaurant or inn to feature these dishes.”

The elleth shrugged a shoulder.  “No money for it,” she said simply.  And then: “Here! I have another thing for you to try.”  She went to another part of her stall and brought to them some long, twisted breadsticks.  Unlike those typically served in some of the finer establishments on the island, these were fatter and peppered with a variety of spices that had been baked into them.  “Try these with the soup,” she advised them.

Glorfindel blinked, perceiving the rebuke. “Forgive me, please, for my words. I sincerely did not mean to offend.” His bewildered expression was that of a lost child who had just been told he made a mistake, but really did not understand. “Your food is exquisite,” he added meekly, sensing somehow that he should stop there though he wanted to explain further.

This seemed to appease the vendor, who now presented Glorfindel with the portion of the meal he had ordered, and some wrapped caramel candies from under the counter.  “These you can take home,” she said, in case he might be unsure whether he was expected to eat these here as well.

“Give me a list, and I will have samples sent to you,” offered Gildor.  “I would want you to test the quality of the spices before you commit to purchase.”  The elleth nodded, and moved a step to the side to take care of other customers who were led by their noses to the stall.  Gildor waited until she could not see his expression, and winked to Glorfindel.

A crooked smile was returned to him, and Glorfindel turned his attention to his food, whereby he could also wallow in his embarrassment. Much of his appetite now was lost. He picked at his seafood delicacy, knowing that it would be the least likely to survive reheating at home. Desperately not wanting to make a scene, he retreated inside of himself, wishing very much that he had one of Erestor’s head coverings behind which to hide.  _ Why do I have such trouble interacting with others now? I do not remember being like this long ago.  _ The answer came back quickly enough.  _ Most of my resilience is gone, and I do not know how to recover it. Or if I should try. Just be glad Gildor is here, Fin. Let him do the talking; try not to be sad for how you are is not your fault.  _ His own attempt at self-encouragement rang hollow, but it would have to do.  _ Surely, you will feel worse if you cannot master yourself and ruin Gildor’s outing. _ “You do so well with others. I admire you,” he complimented with cheer not actually felt.

Brow furrowed, Gildor finished his soup hastily, then carried his vegetable treats to pack them into the box with the candles.  He ordered food that could be taken back for Maedhros and Fingon, and when he noticed that Glorfindel was not very interested in his food, he placed most of that into the box as well.  “The soup was most delicious,” Gildor complimented, not only wishing to bestow the flattery, but also hoping to distract from Glorfindel’s sudden change in mood.

“It was,” Glorfindel answered, hoping he sounded enthusiastic. “What else would you like to see? Shall we keep looking along the stalls?” He wondered how bad of an actor he was, but he meant to try his best. “It is very nice to be out here with you.” That statement required no forcing, for it was true.

“Your food is ready!”

Gildor returned the smile and then retrieved the items he had chosen for Maedhros and Fingon.  These were placed in the box, which he lifted up. “We should go home,” he said without judgement.

A stab of regret coursed through an anxious mind. Fearing his emotional instability, Glorfindel did not dare respond until they were well away from the market and walking the path back home. “Gildor, did you want to leave the market early because of me? If that was the case, I am truly sorry.”

“What are you sorry about?  Finde, you have a lot on your mind.  You have a lot going on at home. You have a bunch of visitors some turned residents in your home.  And, you have a horse that fucks everything in sight. You have every right to need time and have moments and whatever else you need,” Gildor reasoned as he hoisted the box a little higher.  “Mae Mae better like his candle, because let me tell you, I am going to whine to him about how heavy these were to carry back,” he said. “Also, thank me later, but I have the list of spices for you now, and I think we can disect one of these and figure out the rest of the contents.”

“It is none of those things,” Glorfindel answered softly. “It…” He sighed. “What I want most of all, right now, is not to ruin your afternoon with my mind-health sickness. That being said, I think many things I know are not right but I can barely control it. I despair, or panic, or dissolve into tears, followed by guilt and fear that I made a spectacle and became unpleasant company. No one really wants someone around who is liable to fall apart for the most innocuous reasons, Gildor. Even I know that much. I said I was sorry because I thought that my behavior caused you to want to abandon our outing. I cannot evaluate how I affect others any longer. I miss social cues --like my mistake with the elleth over the soup--that are obvious to everyone else. Anyway, that can all be set aside for some other time. What I want second most of all is for you to allow me to carry some or all of your packages for you. I am still strong physically, and would feel like I am redeeming myself a little. Once we are home, I do hope to hear your recipe surmise.”

Gildor stopped abruptly, set the box down in the middle of the pathway, and pulled Glorfindel into a tight embrace.  “And friends, good friends, do not just allow their friends to suffer through an afternoon when they really need a hug and snuggle and someone to tell them it is going to be alright, because Glorfindel, eventually, it will be.  How long has it been since you bonded with Fingon? Do you realize how that changes a person? You talk about not knowing certain things and being confused...bonding with someone means that part of who they are is now part of who you are.  Your behaviour has changed because, yes, you have changed, but you will in time learn how to live with these thoughts and feelings. I am sure of it.”

“But...I thought I was like this because of the accident and what led up to it. How long has it been? Uhm...shit this is bad, right now I cannot remember the date. Please do not tell them that--I feel ashamed. Maybe it will return to me; I forget a lot of things then remember later. Months? I...what you are saying...it was not like that with Erestor. I am not sure it was like that for Fingon and Erestor. With Fingon it….ohhhhh why does everything have to be explained to me like I am a small child? I try not to give in to running myself down but it is very hard not to.”

“Perhaps it is a combination of so many different things happening at once.  It was not so long ago that you were still with Mr. Prick, and much has happened in between.  You are far too hard on yourself,” said Gildor.

“Maybe,” Glorfindel wavered. “I know I need help, Gildor. I needed help a long time ago but--well, you heard about how that went for us. I know you will help me if you stay here, and I will do my best to learn from you. I do not know how else to be. I do not see the way out of the feelings I have,” he admitted. “And I am not the only one who is troubled. I worry more about Fingon and Mae. Even Erestor. You. Asfaloth. DogDog. We are quite a household. Lost gays, indeed.” A pause ensued. “Uhm, not the last two. Asfaloth and DogDog are definitely not gay.”

“If you want to be completely correct, neither is Fingon.  That man is bisexual with...well, you know. On top of everything else he is dealing with, part of his own identity, one of the parts he was so certain about, turned out to be something else entirely.  I am thankful that Erestor is doing as well as he is; I honestly felt that of everyone, he stood the best chance of...losing it, to put it simply,” said Gildor.

“So did I. That is why I am so proud of Ress. But back to what you said about Fingon...is the bisexual because of me? Ever since the surgery I have tried to find someplace to put myself. I am something between a man and a woman, but closer to a man. Fingon seems very attracted to what is female about me but...really, it just means I have two holes to choose from. I like that he likes it not because of gender but because it is the first time I felt wanted for all of how Eru made me. I do not mean to be so blunt but when you misunderstand as much as I do, nuances and euphemisms stop working.” He snuggled closer into Gildor’s arms, feeling sheltered there and not in a hurry to complete the journey home.

“I think I need to just explain fully when I say things instead of assuming we are on the same page.  The ‘you know’ part is in reference to Fingon’s obvious genophobia. He is probably the truest bisexual I have ever...analyzed, because he do not appear to have a leaning, a preference, if you will.”

“Geno...what? Fear of...I do not know that word, so I guess we were indeed apart in understanding. Knowing me, Gildor, I am not even in the same book as you. Forget pages.”

“Sexual intimacy,” Gildor filled in.  “Sorry. Common terminology for me. There is also phallophobia, which relates to the fear of penises, and even medorthophobia, fear of erect penises.  If someone has issues with it, there is a name for it in my line of work.”

“I see,” Glorfindel frowned. “But...I do not think Fingon is phobic about sex. Not now. What he was afraid of was the past, and of physical pain, and of self-imposed expectations. He just needed a lot of patience, and love. It has been like watching a blossom open.”

Stepping back slightly, Gildor took hold of Glorfindel’s hands.  “Sweetie, you need to realize--there are no ‘cures’ for phobias. You can treat them in a variety of ways, or offer medication, but...it is good that he is better, however, do not be completely surprised if something triggers the phobia for him in the future.”

“I will accept your words though I do not fully understand, for all I know is what I have seen. I am an able learner, Gildor, and I want to learn. I want to understand my husband, for both our sakes. All I ask is your patience with the many questions I am sure I will have.”

“Of course--you are always free to ask me anything,” said Gildor sincerely .

\---

“Shall we play another game of chess?” suggested Maedhros.

“You just want to play something with the assurance that you can kick my ass,” Fingon replied.

Maedhros smiled.  “Can you blame me?  I cannot think of another thing I could possibly best you in, be it game or sport.”  Maedhros opened the tin where the chess pieces and other amusements were typically stored and asked, “What about cards?”

“As long as it is not ‘fifty-two pick-up’.”

Maedhros chuckled.  “I thought for sure you would never speak to me again when I did that to you.” 

“That was incredibly mean, but you are forgiven,” replied Fingon as he recalled a time from their youth when he had been asked if he had ever played the game, and upon stating he had not, was the victim of Maedhros sweeping his hand over the table so that the cards scattered across the floor.  “I never did find one of the fours from that deck.”

“Cards it is.”  Maedhros took the cards out and began to shuffle them once he set the tin aside.

“So…”  The topic Fingon wanted to bring up for discussion had been forefront in his mind, but only now did he utter it.  “Yesterday…”

Slowly, Maedhros looked up from the deck.  “Uh-huh?” He wore a cautious expression.

“I gather that you have said some nice things about me to Gildor.”  Fingon’s voice was filled with remorse.

“A few,” Maedhros said.  He set the cards down on the tray between them and waited for Fingon to cut the deck.

“I have not been so complimentary in my description of you when I have spoken to my spouses about our former relationship,” Fingon admitted.

“I got that feeling,” replied Maedhros.

Fingon looked down at the deck and rapped his knuckles on the top of it.  Maedhros began to deal, and Fingon frowned when more than five cards came his way.  “What are we playing?”

“Crazy Eights.  Felt appropriate.”

Fingon narrowed his eyes while Maedhros smirked.  “I deserve that,” Fingon finally said. “I am sorry.  I held on to grudges for things you did not even know were issues.”

Maedhros looked ready to wave off the apology, but then he set his cards back down and looked thoughtfully at Fingon.  “Maybe you could tell me, without shouting at me in an incomprehensible manner, and without fear that you are going to bring down the roof on me, or shoot me with an arrow, precisely the things I did that you did not like or want, because you contradict yourself, my dear.  You say yes, you mean no, and how am I to know?”

Tossing his cards down as well, Fingon paused to rub his eyes.  “Alright. The one that keeps haunting me is the night we spent together four days before the battle when I lost my life.”

“You did not want to bond that night,” guessed Maedhros.

“I wanted to do that.  I just did not want the sex,” clarified Fingon.  

“But… I am not sure how else we would have bonded, and you enjoyed it,” Maedhros said.  “You told me so.”

“It was terrible,” Fingon said, then bit his lip.  “Sorry, that--”

“No, no apologies.  I want the truth. How long have you been holding this in?  Speak to me, Fingon. How was it terrible for you? And, I am not scolding you, now that I hear my voice and see your face, I know you are thinking that--I am just in shock that you let me continue on with it without saying something,” said Maedhros.

“You did not use anything to prepare me, you are well endowed, it was my first time--”

“I thought I--maybe I--you should have said something,” Maedhros insisted.  “I would have stopped. I told you years ago, if you want me to stop, if there is something you are not comfortable with, tell me.  You should have told me.” Maedhros reached out to take hold of Fingon’s hand. “As for the size, I guess… my first time with Gildor, he made no complaints--maybe I need to ask him about that.”

“Sweetheart, and this is nothing against Gildor’s character so please do not take it that way, but I feel that even before your bonding to him, Gildor’s experience far exceeded your own.  I think he had more than stretched himself to be comfortable with what you had to offer.”

“With what?” Maedhros asked.  “He was not bound to anyone before me.”

“You know.”

“Uhm… his fingers?” guessed Maedhros.  “He is flexible, and so are you, but I know enough to know that no one can use their own dick on themselves.”

Fingon blinked.  “No… you know what I… oh, fuck, maybe you… huh.”

“I need more to go on than that, Fin,” said Maedhros.

“Toys.”

Maedhros licked his lips and considered for a moment.  “What are you saying, that he stuck a sock puppet up his ass?”

“Here.”  Fingon went to retrieve the special box kept in the library and opened it to reveal the phallic contents.  “These.”

“Oh.”  Maedhros looked into the box and blushed.

“I just realized, we never used anything like this.  Rope, chains, paddles, that riding crop...nothing like this, though.”

“No, we did not,” confirmed Maedhros, blushing redder.

Fingon plucked one from the box and held it out to Maedhros, who gingerly took possession of it.  “You can use these to--”

“I--I--I get it,” stuttered Maedhros.  “This, uhm… makes sense,” he mumbled. “Gildor has… things like this I never asked about.”  He deposited the item back into the box. 

“He used one last night,” Fingon said.

Maedhros tilted his head.  “Who?”

“Gildor.”

“When?”

“When he was sucking me off.  Erestor had it up his--you were here for that, right?  I was pretty out of it, but I thought you were in the room with us,” Fingon insisted.

“I had other things on my mind.”  Maedhros looked back down into the box.  “Which one did he use?”

With an uncertain stare, Fingon reached into the box and lifted up the large black implement that dwarfed the others.

“Seems like him to pick that one,” Maedhros decided.

A sudden knock on the door alerted them of the return of their companions.  Gildor did not wait for an answer before he entered the room. He had a tray in his hands, and it was laden with the lunch from the market and some fresh cut vegetables from the garden.  “Glorfindel and I just returned from an adventure! I have chicken and chicken and chicken for you,” he said as he held out the tray to Maedhros, “and Glorfindel has some vegetable and shrimp for you, dear,” Gildor said to Fingon.  “We were going to eat there, but we missed the two of you, and we thought we would bring something for you, too!”

Without hesitation, Glorfindel moved toward Fingon, going down on one knee so as to not upset their card game. As best he could given the awkward position, he embraced his husband. “Gildor was magnificent, love. I think we will be able to re-create the recipe, thanks to his cleverness and charm.” In a softer voice he added, “I missed you, and I found you a small present. I hope you like it.” For a moment, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the chiseled body. Fingon gave him strength. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, honey,” Fingon answered, and he coaxed Glorfindel down beside him, card game be damned.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the box that he and Maedhros had been going through, and shoved a pillow over to cover it and the contents.  “When you say ‘the recipe’, I anticipate that you mean THE recipe from that woman you have attempted to flirt with ever since you tried her wares.”

“Yes. I was no help. I accidentally insulted her. Gildor fortunately is not the social disgrace that I am; he knew all the right things to say. Which is probably for the best, as it may be awhile before I dare return there.”

“Pfff...you insulted her?  Do you know what she did the last time I was there?” asked Fingon.  “She somehow recognized me as being a kinslayer--not sure how--and despite the other times I have been there, she refused to serve me.  She actually called out to the other people in the market not to buy any of her food for me. Which is why this is so amazing and I should have considered sending you over to buy it for me sooner,” Fingon said.

“I know how she figured it out,” Maedhros said as he, too, covertly moved things around, and, keeping the pillow on the box, maneuvered it out of sight of their mates.  “You were with me. How many people do you know with red hair and one hand? She had to put two and two together on that.”

“Hmm.  Never considered that,” Fingon admitted.

“If that is how she treated you, fuck her,” Glorfindel said with uncharacteristic sourness. “Her food is good but it is not that good.” Abruptly he stood. “Please pardon me, I just remembered something I need to see to.” Stalking off, he went to check on Asfaloth and the dogs.

Gildor blinked.  “Umm…”

“Go on.  Someone should go after him, and I am in a sorry state right now,” recognized Fingon.

Gildor nodded and left to catch up to Glorfindel.

Fingon and Maedhros held each other’s gaze, and the moment they were relatively certain they would not be walked in on, there was a mad dash to more appropriately hide the implements in the box, and then to hide the box itself.  The first attempt was under the mattress, which they both realized was futile and quite honestly, dumb. The settled on putting it into Fingon’s desk, and then cleaning up the mess of the cards, which had spilled over the mattress and onto the floor, and even onto the tray of food.

At the bottom landing, Gildor managed to just get ahead of Glorfindel.  “Finde, I know this is going to sound like I am siding with the Teleri, but you have to understand that there is still a lot of bitterness as it pertains to actions from long ago.  It seems rather unjustified to us, but then, you were not yet here, and I was but a child. I am not saying her reaction is right, but at least, consider why she acts as she does.”

“Right now I do not want to.” He looked up at Gildor with tears pooling in his eyes. “Today has not been a good day for me, here.” Glorfindel’s fingers tapped the side of his head. “Sometimes if I just go off by myself or with Asfaloth and cry, it goes away for a time. And I do need to see that they came back as they said they would. So unless you have some brighter idea…” A weak smile appeared above his quivering chin. Gently, he tried to move past Gildor to leave the house.

“Then we are going together,” Gildor said softly as he slid his fingers over Glorfindel’s hand in offering.

Only the smallest hesitation passed, before Glorfindel laced his fingers into Gildor’s. Once outside, the open door of the stable and a few excited yaps indicated Asfaloth’s presence along with his charges. “Do you think we interrupted something, up there?” he asked hopefully. “They had the box of toys out. It was adorable, to see them both trying to hide it.”

“Was that what it was?  I knew it was something,” smirked Gildor.

“Erestor and I have had that box for so long I swear I know it just by the scent of the wood,” Glorfindel grinned. “Cedar. It is very old, a relic of Imladris that we not so long ago began using for our bedroom fun things. I would know it anywhere, though I have no recollection of how it ended up in the library. It hardly matters.”

“I do not think we interrupted anything in particular--I have a feeling that Mae Mae would have asked my consent before he jumped into something,” said Gildor.  “I think we stumbled upon some curiosity and awakenings. Maybe we should stall a little before we go back up,” suggested Gildor. “We might want to check on the garden.  When was the last time we tended to it?” he asked, in a slightly worried tone.

“Too long,” Glorfindel admitted, squeezing his hand while he gathered courage. “We will go and do that, but first I need to ask you something before I lose my nerve.”

“I am here, Finde. Whatever you need.” Gildor’s full attention turned to his friend.

“We can walk to the greenhouse. I just have to start talking or I will make an excuse not to. So... I am tired of how I am often sad or anxious. This morning, you wanted me to promise to quit judging myself over the Faelion thing, and on our way home you told me I was being too hard on myself. Fine, you are probably right, but I need to know what to actually do. What I am trying to tell you is that I do not know how to help myself. I do not know how to stop thinking about how everyone would be better off without my whining or my sadness. I did not used to be like this, even a little!” Glorfindel’s foot stamped in frustration. “I could suck it up, almost all the time, and, you know, manage. But now I make some gains but it is not enough for me to stop coming back to this. Please can you help me? I do not want to be this way anymore. I want to be there for Fingon and Erestor. I want to need them too--but not because of these emotional rollercoasters. I will do anything you ask me to, or at the very least try my hardest.” Only now did Glorfindel realize that he was gripping Gildor’s hand with unnecessary strength. Immediately he relaxed his hold.

Gildor’s eyes filled with empathy. “Of course I will help you. Not many have ever asked me in those terms, and I give you high marks for it. You are more courageous than you know, to admit and recognize these things. Do you understand that this will be a process, more than one conversation we will have, with time in between for you to reflect and work on things I suggest you try?”

“No, but I do now. I guessed talking would be involved, but I am not versed in your craft,” Glorfindel said, hoping for something useful at this very minute and yet not daring to ask in case that was unacceptable.

“Good. I want you to know that you can always ask me questions, or come to me if you have a time when you feel especially troubled, but we will try not to speak about your difficulties constantly. Does that make sense?” Gildor asked. 

“Yes. I think so.” Glorfindel paused to load up the wheelbarrow with harvest boxes so they could pick what needed picking--unfortunately there was a great deal of it. Quickly they were settled down, working closely together among the plants. Overgrown produce went in piles in the middle of the walkways, while produce fit for their kitchen was laid down neatly in the boxes. 

“So I will try to explain what is understood about anxiety, because from what you told to me about your experience at the market, it might be the most helpful place we could begin. Does that sound feasible? I want you most of all to realize that my help needs to be responsive to you. My role will be to support you, care for you, guide you to identify beliefs that might be harmful, and give you information that will help your mind heal from the trauma you have experienced. We will always work on what is affecting you the most and begin seeing what kind of picture it paints for us of you as a unique and valuable person.”

“I suppose this is where I am not allowed to say things that disagree with your assessment,” Glorfindel smiled wanly.

Gildor sat back on his haunches, with a very contemplative expression. “You could run yourself down; I will not stop you from expressing what is in your heart. But then I would be obliged to tell you that such harsh assessments are a symptom of what afflicts you--not you yourself. The pain you feel is real, Finde. It needs to be spoken, acknowledged. Let me ask you this--what would you have said, that you thought I would not allow?”

“That is easy,” Glorfindel answered, snapping off a squash. “I am not valuable, because I am a mess.”

“So...would you accept that what you just said is a negative statement about yourself?”

“Very negative. Hugely, massively, resoundingly negative,” Glorifndel admitted.

“You are a scientist,” Gildor noted. “Is your negative statement true? Do you have empirical evidence to support that assertion; evidence would convince a preponderance of other individuals?”

Blinking, Glorfindel stared at Gildor, opening his mouth to argue--but no words came out. After a time, his lips pressed together. “No. I cannot prove that. I said it because it is how I feel.”

“Here is the first means by which to help yourself, Finde. Negative thoughts are normal. Everyone has them, and no matter how hard we try they cannot be successfully suppressed or eradicated. The key is whether or not you believe the negative thoughts are true.”

“But I...it...they will…” Glorfindel trailed off as the concept clicked into place. “Oh. I never thought of it that way.”

“You are remarkable. I mean it,” Gildor praised. “You have an ability to recognize the kinds of thoughts inside of you; only this step was missing. You can keep talking about anything you wish with me, but that is what I want you to focus on for the rest of the day--identify thoughts that are negative, and provide the space in which to ask yourself if the thought is really true. Do you feel you can try this?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel said, tears pooling in his eyes.

“Can I ask what is happening, with this?” Gildor inquired, gently brushing away the salty drops. “What is in your thought?”

“I think,” Glorfindel’s voice hitched. “This feels like...what you told me to try is something I know I can actually do. I can see how it will matter. I have been frightened for a long time, thinking I never will find my way out of this. What you said gives me hope that I am wrong about that. Oh, dammit,” he sobbed. “I did not want to do this fucking crying again!”

“But I do want you to,” Gildor said, holding him comfortingly. “We are going to work on this together; you are not alone. The tears let you release strain and hurt--they are not an enemy. Never feel ashamed of your feelings. More strength is needed to let others see them than to bury them inside.”

“If you say so,” Glorfindel choked out between sniffles.

“I do,” Gildor grinned. “The flamboyant peacock wildcat is never wrong about these things.”

Caught off-guard, Glorfindel’s catharsis ran headlong into words he found to be inexplicably hilarious. After he chortled, choked, and coughed until he could breathe again properly, he punched GIldor in the arm--very gently. “I am trying to cry and you are trying to kill me. I love you, but you are still an asshole.”

Gildor laughed and ruffled the fluffy golden hair, immensely pleased. “Honey, I sincerely hope so. Otherwise how could you be sure I am not an impostor?”

Blinking, Glorfindel struggled to a more upright position. “I do not even know how to respond to that,” he said, wiping away tears, snot and spittle with a few insect-nibbled lettuce leaves no one would wish to eat.

“See?” Gildor preened, teasing out his hair a little with his fingers. “My work here is done.”

“Could have fooled me,” Glorfindel corrected. “There are still the green beans.”

A deep sigh escaped Gildor. “My work here is not done. Alas.”

“Gildor?”

“Yes, Finde?”

“Thank you.” Glorfindel’s eyes were filled with sincerity.

“You are welcome, sweetie. You are welcome.”

  
  
  


###  Day 18 - Early Evening

When everyone converged once more at the house, it was the good cheer from Elrond, Celebrian, and Erestor that raised Glorfindel’s spirits as laughter burst into the kitchen, where he and Gildor were nearly done storing the day’s bounty.  Maedhros and Fingon had migrated to the kitchen as well upon hearing the arrival of the cottage’s guests, and to greet them and Erestor. 

“I do hope you will dine with us this evening,” Celebrian told Fingon as she released him from an embrace and held fast to both of his hands.  “Elrond has a bit of a surprise tonight.”

“A surprise?” Fingon glanced at Erestor, knowing at least one person who was not at all pleasantly surprised by surprises.

But Erestor had a smile on his face as Elrond put his arm around his shoulder.  “Erestor and I are going to cook dinner tonight.”

Several pairs of eyes widened, and Gildor even pulled a face.  “Are we being punished?” came out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Elrond rolled his eyes.  “I thought you two were friends now,” he muttered as Erestor stuck his tongue out at Gildor.

“Call it more of an understanding,” teased Maedhros. 

Meanwhile, Glorfindel fidgeted with his hands, and offered an attempt at support.  “If you want to try…”

“It will be fine,” Elrond assured them all.  “We went shopping for the ingredients we need on our way home, and we already had a tactical briefing on what to expect, and he has solid knowledge of the battle plans.”

“Wait--are you approaching this like a war?” asked Gildor.

Elrond nodded.  “Exactly. The reason none of you have had success is that you are just equating cooking to cooking.”

Gildor interrupted with, “Actually, I equate cooking to sex.”

Elrond drew his lips into a very fine line.  “Either way,” he began anew, “I considered the possibilities, and there is something that Erestor is very, very good at that the rest of you...have not quite excelled at the same level,” Elrond settled on.  “Erestor fought in more battles than any of you, and never once did he succumb to injuries from them. He served in the front line and as a cavalry Captain many times, and he was trained by one of the elite warriors of the First Age.  It really makes sense to approach cooking like a war, and he is going to be victorious tonight.”

“Are you implying we sucked as soldiers?” asked Maedhros.

“It was not an implication.  He just used fancy words to come right out and say it,” Gildor mumbled.

“I mean no disrespect, but no one gets to be good at everything,” Elrond said.

“Oh, but you come pretty close, dear,” Celebrian said as she weaved around to kiss his cheek and stand on the side opposite Erestor.

“What about me?” piped up Gildor.  “If you are using the standard that he did not die in battle as a mark of a good soldier--”

“Gildor, you were a messenger and a banner bearer, and you spent half your time on the battlefield flinging insults and dodging arrows,” Elrond reminded him.  “The other half the time, you were running a message to someone else. You are agile, but...I remember one night of fighting during the Alliance when you brought a message to me from Thranduil--”

“We can skip this,” advised Gildor loudly.

“--and you did not even know where your sword was because you thought you might have lost it in a poker game the night before--”

“Was that the strip poker game?” queried Erestor.

“You say ‘the’ strip poker game as if it was the only strip poker game that occurred during that war,” Gildor said.

“--and somehow a troll barreled its way through the front line and was heading right for us.  I stood my ground with three men and two of Ereinion’s archers, and you,” he said, wiggling a finger at Gildor now, “ducked behind me to use me as a human shield.”

“Well, it would have been effective.  You had all that heavy armor on. All I had was some worn leather padding,” Gildor complained.

“Because you lost that in the poker game, too!” Elrond shook his head.  “Gildor, there were a lot of times when you were able to best others one-on-one, but as a heroic soldier in a war, give that honor to Erestor.”

Erestor blushed now as Gildor stood down, and Elrond patted Erestor on the back.  “I fought alongside Erestor in many battles, and there are few others I would have preferred to have by my side in those skirmishes.”

“Out of curiosity, Erestor, what rank did you achieve?” asked Maedhros.

“I was a Captain, same as Glorfindel,” Erestor said proudly.  “He was the one who taught me how to fight, you know.”

Now it was Glorfindel’s turn for a bit of embarrassment, and he rubbed his warm cheek.  “It was not just me. Ecthelion helped, and so did Duilin, and eventually he trained with Rog’s army.  That was where he earned his ranks,” Glorfindel added. 

“And, what rank did you achieve?” Maedhros asked Gildor.

“What is the rank above Lieutenant?” Gildor asked.

“Lieutenant Commander?” guessed Fingon, who had been silently leaning against the wall near the doorway for most of the conversation.

“That one.  Never made it to that.”

“So you were a Lieutenant?” asked Fingon, and Gildor nodded in confirmation.  “So that means both Glorfindel and Erestor would be your commanding officers.”

“Oh, honey, they can command me to do whatever they want me to do in an office,” drawled Gildor.  Elrond groaned and shook his head while Celebrian sighed. “Oh, come on, I could not pass that up.”

“I had a special rank back in the First Age,” said Maedhros with a grin.  He crossed his arms and looked over his shoulder at Fingon.

It took a moment for Fingon to recall, and then he smirked briefly before he shook his head.  “You are not going to tell them,” he said.

“I was considering it.  I cannot always lose to Gildor in these things.”

Fingon looked at the ceiling, still shaking his head.  “You never listen to me anyway.”

“So untrue.”

“Oh, come on, you cannot just torture me like this,” Gildor insisted.

“Fine,” Fingon said.  “Tell them.”

Maedhros chuckled as he looked back and said, “I was the Commander of the High King’s Privates.”

“Oh, that was better than I thought it would be,” Gildor exclaimed.  “Well played!” 

“Commander rank is lower than--oh!  Oh. Oh…” Erestor closed his eyes and shook his head.  “What was your actual rank, Mae?” 

“At the height of things, I was the King’s Commander, which is higher than regular Captain, because then the High King is also High Captain, so within the realm, those ranks were above the typical lieutenant, lieutenant commander, commander, captain roles,” Maedhros explained.

“Eventually, King’s Commander became Herald,” Elrond said.  

“Interesting parallel,” Glorfindel noted.  “Maedhros was, essentially, Fingon’s Herald.  Years later, your sons fulfilled those same roles for each other.”

This comment seemed to bring a shared joy to Maedhros and Elrond, and Celebrian poked at her husband to gain his attention.  “I just realized--I outrank Gildor.”

“Ah, true,” confirmed Elrond.

“What is your rank?” asked Fingon.

“Lieutenant Commander,” responded Celebrian.  “Military training was mandatory in Lothlorien.  When you live in a tree, you want to make sure everyone is prepared.  My mother was one of our fiercest warriors.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Fingon said.

“Look at us.  An entire room of retired soldiers,” Elrond said with a chuckle.

But off to the side, Fingon shook his head.  “Not me.”

“You fought in a lot of battles,” countered Gildor.

“True, but my only military rank came from royal hierarchy,” pointed out Fingon.  “Unlike the rest of you, I was never affiliated with a formal military, never trained as a soldier, and never worked my way up the ranks.  I just jumped from civilian to being in charge of all of the armies because of my father’s death.”

“What about all of the stories of fighting dragons or leading troops into victorious battles?” asked Celebrian.  “You had people following you.”

“I had a militia, if you want to call it that.  It was just all of the unaffiliated warriors. A good number of them were fellow gymnasts I knew in Valinor.  Everyone was responsible for their own gear and weapons and training, and if they wanted to leave, they could, no questions asked.  No ranks. We just supplemented what others were doing, or, if there was something that seemed like no one else would do it, we would take care of it.  Sometimes, plans were bad, and we refused to help. It was always collective. If we were not unanimous, then we would split the group,” Fingon explained.

“Sure, but someone was the leader, and that was you, so even if it was unofficial, you were the chief officer,” Maedhros argued.

“I suppose,” Fingon said.

“That was how you were able to go and rescue Mae Mae without disobeying an order or getting court martialed,” Gildor reasoned.

“Mmm, well, I would have gone after his ass either way,” said Fingon, and Maedhros looked over his shoulder again to blow Fingon a kiss.  “As for court martial, it was a different time, Gildor. If someone deserted from a formal army in those days, they would usually just get killed when they were found.  If they ran off in the middle of battle, it would not have been unlikely for an archer to shoot them.”

“That sounds horrible.  Why shoot your own soldiers?” Gildor asked.

Both Maedhros and Fingon seemed confused by this question.  “Why would you let them go?” asked Fingon.

Maedhros gave a fuller explanation: “You run the risk of them being taken prisoner by the enemy.  You never want to have any Elf fall into enemy hands. You never know what secrets they might tell.  Look at what happened to Gondolin.”

Before the conversation could turn down a darker path, Celebrian clapped her hands twice.  “While I enjoy having this time together, Elrond and Erestor have a masterpiece to create, and we are in their way.  I am now shooing you all out of the kitchen. Out! Right now! Retreat, soldiers!” She waved her hands at them until only Elrond and Erestor were left in the kitchen.  Once in the hallway, she relaxed her arms. “At ease. You are free to do as you like, so long as you stay out of the kitchen.”

Once more, Glorfindel was twisting his fingers.  “Are you sure we should not--”

“Come--when was the last time you and I had a chance to gossip?  It seems forever,” Celebrian said, and she linked her arm with his.

“I love some good gossip,” Gildor said, and he joined them as they walked to the great room.

Fingon shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at the floor in the hallway.  “Maybe I will go read a book,” he said.

“Or, maybe we could go up to the roof and stargaze,” suggested Maedhros.  “Unless, of course, you are committed to finding a book.”

There was a lengthy pause before Fingon revealed, “I do not really want to read right now.”

Maedhros smiled as he started up the stairway.  “Yes, I knew that.”

“How would you have known that?” asked Fingon as he followed.

“By now?  I should be able to pick up on things like that,” said Maedhros.

  
  
  
  


###  Day 18 - Night

Fingon stared up at the blue-violet twilight haze.  A few stars were just beginning to show themselves, and somewhere, he knew the brightest one was Elrond’s birth father, while Elrond’s adoptive father, the man Elrond affectionately called ‘Adar’, laid close by, staring up into that same sky.  “Do you ever wonder if our fathers talk to each other about us and our relationship?”

“You could have stopped at ‘other’ and I would have said no,” answered Maedhros.  He cleared his throat and said, “I only recall one time that your father called upon mine to discuss our relationship.”

“Oh?”  Fingon turned his head, suddenly very interested.

Maedhros nodded his head against the weatherproof cushion.  “He came over one night after dinner, and my father dismissed everyone upstairs.  I used one of the servant passages to get back downstairs so that I could hide in the wall.  Your father was expressing his concern about our relationship, and said he wanted us to create an agreement prior to marriage.”

“What?  When was this?” asked Fingon.  “My father never mentioned that.”

“It was right after they caught us during that family gathering.  You were coaching… no. You had finished that. Wait… you did your own coaching for a while… maybe?”

“I coached independently.  I was living with my parents when I did that, and Finrod trained me to be a librarian, and then I figured out that being a librarian was a lot easier than trying to find people to coach who were not affiliated with a gym, and most not affiliated were not particularly good, so that was discouraging.  Anyhow, yes, my coaching career was brief,” confirmed Fingon.

Maedhros nodded slowly.  “I think it was before you stopped completely.”

“That would make sense.  I was very busy during that time.  Hmm. So my father gave serious thought to it,” Fingon said.  “That… really helps me, I think. It makes me feel better.”

Maedhros clenched his jaw a few times before he answered, “My father laughed at yours.”

“Oh.”

Maedhros sighed.  “He, um… fuck, I should not bring this shit up.”

“No.  I want to hear it.  Come on, ‘MaeMae’, what did your daddy dearest say?” pressed Fingon.

Rolling onto his side so that he had to partially face Fingon, Maedhros said, “My father told your father that you had better come with a dowry.  Then he gave his commentary about how he did not care how many times I buggered you, but if you stuck your dick up my ass, he’d chop it off himself.”

“Lovely,” ground out Fingon.

“The best part?”

“There is a best part?  Do t--oh, did one of your brothers hear this shit?  Was it Celegorm”

“Not just Celegorm.  Every fucking one of them stood there with me.  None of them said a damned thing until we got back upstairs.  Then Celegorm had to open his mouth, and suddenly we had that dumbass bet going.”  Maedhros reached over to take hold of Fingon’s hand, and Fingon shifted so that they could properly face one another.  “I am sorry.”

Fingon rubbed the back of Maedhros’ hand for a while.  When he finally replied, it was with the words, “Stay. Stay here, with us.  I know you talk about traveling around, and visiting your family a fair amount, but… I mean, mine is not perfect, either.  But I feel you would be happier if you stayed here. Something I keep having to reflect upon is that the family of my youth is not the same as the family of my adulthood.  The family of now. We get thrown into a family so that we can see, this is what family can be. And then, we have the chance to make our own with the person or people we love.  Sometimes we are even blessed with the chance to create a new family member, but we always have to remember that someday, they may and probably will go off and make their own family.”  Fingon squeezed Maedhros’ hand. “Please stay. Be part of the family of my choosing.”

Maedhros untangled some of his hair from his face and shook out his mane.  “You want me to settle down, eh?”

“Not just for my sake,” said Fingon.  “Gildor would appreciate it greatly, and I am growing quite fond of him.”

“He tends to do that to people,” admitted Maedhros.  “Ever notice, it is like having a more relaxed and bouncier version of Finrod around?”

“A little bit,” Fingon said.

“Alright,” Maedhros said.  “I will make an attempt to do what you request of me.”

Fingon smiled.  “That makes me very happy.  I feel I could kiss you right now.”

“No one stopping you,” teased Maedhros.

Fingon licked his lips and leaned in, meaning only to press his mouth to Maedhros’ lips.  Instead, the kiss deepened quickly, each tongue seeking out the softness of the other. Fingon’s hands wove their way into that glorious red hair to gain a better hold, and it was only when Fingon began to feel a stir within him that he pulled away.  “Well. Thank you.”

With a feral grin, Maedhros ran his thumb over Fingon’s moist lips.  “Welcome.”

“Supper is ready!”

The call from Gildor caused Fingon to scramble to his feet.  “I suppose we are done here then,” he said.

“Almost.”  Maedhros stood up much slower and tugged Fingon back to him.  “I have something I need to tell you,” he said in a low rumble as he held fast to Fingon’s hands with his one.  He tapped under Fingon’s chin with his stump so that Fingon would look up, and then he stroked Fingon’s cheek with his wrist.  “I forgive you for this. These last two weeks made me realize that if our roles had been reversed, I would not have been able to give up on you, either.  Please try to forgive yourself,” Maedhros said, eyes glistening. “I forgive you. Please, try to forgive me for rushing headlong into what was clearly a trap.  If I had only waited for you to get there, or insisted to my father not to press ahead...there are many things that might have been different.”

Fingon’s own tears could not be contained, and he turned his head to kiss the smooth scars.  “If our roles were reversed, I probably would have done the same thing you did. I cannot find fault in your actions.  As for me, I shall do my best to forgive myself,” he replied.

Maedhros kissed Fingon’s forehead and then they embraced.  “All I can ask is you try. I let you carry this burden too long.”

“It was difficult, to have you always telling me how you wished I had ended it.”  Fingon sighed deeply as he clung to Maedhros. Feeling he was about to go down a darker path, he attempted to lighten the mood.  “Of course, as soon as I offer it to you, you change your mind…”

Maedhros pulled back with a frown and a furrowed brow.

“The theatre,” said Fingon.

“Yes, I know what you meant.  Speaking of…” Maedhros spun Fingon to the side and gave him a firm swat on the rear.  “Never do that again,” he said firmly, but then he yanked Fingon close to kiss him again.  “I like it far better when we are not at odds with one another.”

Fingon let out a noise that was half groan and half purr.  “There are so many more possibilities when we are not fighting,” he agreed.

“Last call for supper!” shouted Gildor again, and this time, Maedhros and Fingon abandoned the starlit haven to join the others in the great room, where a fire was lit, and tables were set up where the makeshift bed had been at one point.   

The makeshift bed that, oddly enough, both Fingon and Maedhros were thinking about at that moment.

“Ta-da!” Erestor spread his hands out to show off all of the selections available for dinner.  “Not just salad that I am unable to burn. Real food!” 

“How?” questioned Fingon a little too quickly, but Erestor only gave him a playful swat with an over mitt.

“I stood right beside him, directed every step, and jumped in when I had to,” Elrond said simply.  “I also let him fail as part of the process.”

“There are two really ugly looking lIttle meat pies out there,” Erestor admitted.  “Also some burned okra. Really burned okra.”

“I do not think we have any sort of okra shortage we need to worry about,” Gildor said.  “Do you know what the best part of all of this is?”

“I expect you to tell me,” Fingon said as he watched Gildor bounce a little.

“Cheesecake.  They made cheesecake!  Real cheesecake.” Gildor sat down at the table and patted the spot beside him before he crooked a finger at Maedhros.

Maedhros abandoned Fingon and slid into the chair next to Gildor.  They kissed briefly, and then exchanged a passing glance. When no one else was looking, Gildor winked at Fingon, who turned to the window to cover his flushed face.

Glorfindel observed the exchange of gestures. While he could not guess exactly, he...could. A calm contentment settled over him, reinforced by Erestor’s successes in the culinary arts. “Ress, I am very proud of you. I would like to sample your ugly meat pie. At least, if Elrond still deems it fit for consumption. Mostly I am excited that you wanted to try.”

“Oh, no.  That meat pie is beyond edible.  Now these,” Elrond said, proudly lifting the tray as if it was a freshly negotiated trade agreement solidified by his chief counselor and not a platter of tasty pies, “are steaming, but not too hot, and perfectly cooked and prepared.  Simple ingredients--seasoned lamb, carrots, peas, potatoes, and a little sauce. I think you will find it to be favorable to the previous ones. Again, all I did was guide him. This is Erestor’s success you see before you.”

“Oh, stop,” Erestor said, but his smile encouraged just a little more if the others were willing to indulge.  He began to distribute food on plates, mindful of who would eat what of the items that were prepared.

“Darling, these are wonderful,” Glorfindel admired. That he was not exaggerating in any fashion permeated his sincere words. “All of this is delicious. I want to thank those of you who spent time in the kitchen, cooking up such magnificence.”

“We helped, Finde dear,” Gildor preened. “We stayed out of everyone’s way, which sometimes is the best help of all. Which means Mae Mae and Fingon helped, too. Yes, so much helpfulness.” Smiling happily, he speared another forkful of pie.

Elrond, who had yet to sample anything at the table, cleared his throat.  Gildor at once set the fork back down slightly guiltily. “I just want to say a few words of blessing over the meal, if I might be allowed.”  Several people there folded their hands and bowed their heads. Gildor tried not to fidget. “Dear Lord, thank You for bringing us together under one roof.  Thank You for old memories, and thank You for the new ones we have yet to make. Thank You for this wonderful meal, and for the means to have such a bounty before us.  Thank You for the grief You have given us, so that we may learn from it, and renew our understanding in Your plans for us. Most of all, thank You for placing each of us in the lives of the others here, and for the great joy it brings each of us.  Namar.”

Gildor grabbed up his fork once again.  “Erestor these are so amazing. You did a great job!  What seasoning did you use? Or is it a family secret that you cannot share?”

“Salt and pepper,” Erestor said, and Maedhros laughed.  “I know. Simple. But I was so nervous--I appreciated the simplicity.”

Glorfindel took fork in hand also, but with guilt. He had forgotten, that Elrond preferred the custom of the blessing. The terrible feelings that so often plagued him began to crash down, and he scrambled to remember what Gildor had taught him. Reasoning it out, his focus turned inward. No one had meant to offend anyone. There was no need to feel bad about a simple oversight. Breathe deeply, everything is fine.

_ Fin?  _ Erestor’s concerned voice pierced his unguarded thought.

_ Gildor taught me a new thing today, Ress. Something to help me.  _

A small smile played around Erestor’s lips.  _ Is it...the same sort of problem, different cause? _

_ Yes.  _ Glorfindel stifled a snort in spite of himself.  _ I can explain it all better later. Your pie really is amazing,  _ he added. 

_ I love you, Fin.  _ The dark beauty turned his gaze elsewhere, so as to not attract the attention of others.

A silly smile spread across Glorfindel’s face, and he quickly added another forkful of food so as to provide some kind of plausibility for his expression. Erestor loved him. That still caused his heart to flutter. Though he knew every curve and plane of his mate’s face, never did he tire of admiring the glorious sight. Further down, he felt his body stirring ever so slightly.

_ Down, boy,  _ Erestor grinned.  _ Later.  _

Glorfindel’s fork clattered to the floor on the heels of the distracting--and provocative--comment. Grateful for the excuse to hide his flushing cheeks, he all but dove sideways to search for his wayward utensil. “Oops!” 

All the while, Fingon slowly sipped his wine, food untouched.  The clatter of the fork allowed the slightest reprieve--with Glorfindel under the table, he would have one less set of eyes on him.   _ Not sure if the two of you know I am here, but, well, here I am.  And I always feel as if I am eavesdropping, and I have to tell you both something, and I am trying not to lose what composure I have because I am determined not to ruin this evening.   _ Fingon picked up a fork and pushed around the contents of his plate as a distraction to the fact he was only drinking.   _ I kissed Maitimo on the roof and I feel like an asshole.  Dammit. I have to work on my delivery. Shit this is giving me a headache.   _ Without thinking, he rubbed the side of his head for a moment.

“Is everything alright, dear?” asked Celebrian, who caught the movement out of the corner of her eye.

“Huh?”  Fingon blinked, and now saw nearly everyone looking at him.  “What? No. Fine. Good. Just eating.” He scooped up a mouthful of food, lifted it up, and shoved it into his mouth.

“Found it!” Glorfindel exclaimed before surfacing, as much to distract the others from Fingon as to retrieve his fork. While continuing a few happy and distracting antics while re-seating himself, he seized the opportunity to reply to Fingon.  _ Love. I kissed Gildor twice today and ended up in his arms quite a few times, though not much of it was...I mean, we were in public. I want you to kiss Maedhros. Wait. That sounded better in my head. But, I mean it, too, that I want you to kiss him. Shit. What I am trying to say is, I thought we had given each other permission to form stronger connections with Mae and Gildor. If I misunderstood then I must beg your pardon...and either way you are not ruining my evening. I love you, Káno. I more than know you are here and never meant to slight or ignore you. Would you allow me to aid your headache, after the meal?  _ His mental voice was heavily tinted with hopefulness.

Patiently, Erestor waited for Glorfindel to finish before he began.  _ Káno, love, I knew what you were doing with Maedhros, because...well, now I am the one who feels like an asshole, like you will believe I was spying on you. I do not begrudge your love for him in any way. I know that you love me, and that my heart is yours in return. I have nothing to hide from you, so you cannot be eavesdropping on me. On us. Fin? _

_ Absolutely. What Ress said.  _ “This is just so tasty!” Glorfindel gushed aloud.

Erestor raised his chocolate eyes to Fingon; those lovely orbs filled with a purity of love and a gracious calm. He could only hope that his words bestowed some peace on his husband.

Stunned silence came over Fingon, who looked across the table.  His gaze fell upon Maedhros, and for the briefest moment, Maedhros looked up from his plate.  He gave Fingon a small smile, but Fingon immediately looked down at his rearranged plate of food.

Gildor, who had masterfully been carrying on a conversation with Elrond and Celebrian while watching the nonverbal tells from others at the table, suddenly patted Maedhros on the back and began to stand up.  “Fingon, dear, I just realized--your treatment. For your migraine. You should take it with food. Come; I have some in the other room.” And before anyone could argue, Gildor had taken Fingon out of the room and to the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Glorfindel said softly, though the object of his thanks had gone. “I worry about Fingon,” he explained to Elrond. “So many headaches.”

Elrond wiped his mouth with his napkin before he set it aside.  “He eats too little,” he whispered. “He is starving himself, and that most certainly can cause stress and lead to headaches.  There must be more than that, though,” he said, and as he appeared about to stand, Celebrian stalled him.

“Let Gildor try first,” advised Celebrian.  “You might overwhelm Fingon if you go in there.”

With a nod, Elrond settled back down again.  “How likely is it that he would allow a full physical examination?”  He looked to Erestor and Glorfindel for guidance.

Erestor spoke. “If we both ask it and he has some time in which to process that, he will concede whether he wishes otherwise or no. I am not unaware that we have a power over him--but it is one I strive never to misuse, for his love is precious to me.”

“Ress, we--” Glorfindel tried to break in, but the former counselor held up his hand. At once Glorfindel fell silent.

“He will not admit this to you, Elrond and Celebrían, but you are no mere guests. You are our chosen family and Glorfindel and I both owe you our lives. Fingon is struggling, for he has realized his love for Maedhros is not merely a relic of the past. He knows not what to do with these feelings, and being who he is will agonize over what he perceives as conflicts. Really, there are no conflicts, but this is Fingon. I too am worried for him, as Glorfindel says.” Turning a little, his full gaze fell on Maedhros. “I ask your pardon for having spoken so forwardly concerning that which involves you, but it is the truth. If you have aught to add, this would be the time.” Erestor spoke softly, so that his voice could not carry to the other room.

Maedhros set down his knife, for he had learned to be quite adept with just one piece of cutlery, and rubbed his fingers over his chin.  “I think you summed it up.” A clinking noise from the kitchen caught his attention, and he focused on that for a moment before he looked back at the others and said, “He and I are beginning to realize we...still care deeply about one another.  So much so, all I want to do right now is go in there, hold him in my arms, and tell him how everything is going to be alright.” Hie voice cracked on the last word, and his covered his eyes with his hand for a few seconds while he fought to control his breathing.  “Sorry. I did not expect to be this overwhelmed.” He removed his hand and continued. “I have also been at war with my thoughts and feelings. As long as we are speaking our minds, I would not have imagined I could be in the position either of you are in,” he said as he motioned his hand between Erestor and Glorfindel.  “And now, I have feelings that say otherwise, and a husband who is graciously accepting and even encouraging of it.”

Elrond and Celebrian exchanged a glance.  “Adar, we never really discussed it, but I think you should be aware of the fact that I had another wife at one time.”

This news seemed to dumbfound Maedhros for a moment, but then he found his voice.  “When? Who? Where?”

“It was when I was in Rivendell, after Celebrian came here--”

“And, to be clear, it was not like he went out the next day,” defended Celebrian.  “Also, I knew about it. Also, they needed each other.”

Elrond reached for Celebrian’s hand and held it as he spoke.  “She was a woman who came with her young son to live in Rivendell.  We wed about a decade after she was there, and together we raised her son.  When he was grown to a man, she began to long for her people. We parted, though not without fondness for one another.  So you see, in my mind, there is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, we are blessed that we have been given such an expanded capacity for love.”

Erestor caught Glorfindel’s eye, and some manner of silent exchange passed between them. A very subtle nod from the blond answered the unvoiced question. Both of them rose, and went to either side of Maedhros. “Know that whatever does--or does not transpire--between Fingon and yourself, you have my sincere blessing. Be free of worry concerning my thoughts or feelings.” A brief but meaningful kiss was pressed against his brow. 

“I echo what my husband has already said to you. I have had time for my reflections, and you have my heartfelt blessing as well.” Glorfindel bestowed his kiss, and then the pair returned to their places as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. “Well,” Erestor said. “Now if the medications help Káno, I will feel like this has been a most lovely evening.”

“Do you like your pie?” Glorfindel wheedled.

“Oh, Fin,” Erestor laughed. “Obviously, I made two without meat for Fingon and I. And yes, I like it. For the first time in a very long while I actually feel accomplished. Erestor cooked food and most all of it is not a blackened cinder.” The warm eyes were lit with self-deprecating humor. “I know it is because I was guided. Fear not, I shall not attempt that on my own; I am also praying to learn modesty.”

Elrond reached a hand over and squeezed Maedhros’ arm.  “For what it is worth, Adar, you have my blessing, too.”

Maedhros smiled and squeezed Elrond’s arm in return as Gildor and Fingon entered back into the room.  “Alright. Ah-ah...I have a better idea,” Gildor said as Fingon made his way back to his seat. Gildor took his own plate to Fingon’s spot, swapped the plates, and brought the food that Fingon had poked about to the spot between Maedhros and Elrond.  “I thought we should mix up the place settings a little. Be spontaneous!” Gildor ushered Fingon to sit down beside Maedhros, and then Gildor slid into the spot next to Glorfindel. “Now to try these smashed sweet potatoes!” 

Fingon, who looked a far sight more relaxed than he had previously been, examined his plate noncommittally.  

“I wonder how the sweet potatoes taste,” Maedhros said.  Fingon blinked and focused his vision. “Have you tried them yet, Fingon?”  Fingon shook his head, and Maedhros wound his right arm around Fingon while he maneuvered Fingon’s fork closer to his hand.   “I am curious to know your opinion.”

Fingon looked at the fork and picked it up.  “Sorry. Little tired. Head was hurting.”

“How is it now?” asked Maedhros.

“Better.”  Fingon sampled the potatoes and nodded.  “Tastes good.”

“We shall grow some next summer, then,” Erestor noted enthusiastically. “They are not terribly difficult, and the greens are as delicious as the roots. I do not know why I did not consider it previously. And this deep orange kind is particularly tasty. So sweet, on account of the manner in which Elrond told me to roast them slowly. As if we added sweetener, except we did not.”

Meanwhile, Gildor managed to soundlessly move his chair slightly closer to Glorfindel so that they were shoulder to shoulder.  “I am particularly fond of the honeyed carrots.” He speared one of the pieces and brought it up not for himself, but to Glorfindel’s lips.

Blushing, Glorfindel accepted the morsel, but his eyes sought out Erestor.  _ Sweetheart, I do not want you to feel ignored. Say the word and I will minimize the flirtations. _

_ Ah, but I shall do so much more with you later than flirt, and I know it. It is alright, Fin. Mostly, I am reflecting on how much we all have grown. And if I am going to be wholly honest, I am finding it erotic to watch him want you. It was not really always quite thus. _

Smiling, Glorfindel opened his mouth, looking expectantly at Gildor. “Mmm. Carrot. More carrot?” he teased.

“Of course,” Gildor said, and he quite delightedly poked his fork into another carrot to feed to Glorfindel.

Elrond, who was attempting to eat without looking too much at what was going on elsewhere so that he did not appear to be watching or interfering in some way, was suddenly interrupted by Celebrian, who held out a finger with a dollop of dessert on it.  “Have you tasted the cheesecake yet?” she asked in a low, silky voice.

After a hard swallow, Elrond leaned slightly closer and flicked his tongue across the sweetness.  “Very good,” he answered, eyes upon her as she slowly licked the rest of it from her own finger. 

“Maybe we should let them finish up out here--so they can talk--and we can take our food back to our room,” Celebrian suggested.

Elrond nodded and followed his wife’s lead as they excused themselves and left hastily for their room.  

There was one tiny problem.

“They forgot their plates,” mused Gildor once the couple was gone from the room.

“We shall save them slices of cheesecake,” Erestor agreed slowly, looking from the cheesecake to Fingon and back again. He wanted both of them and at the moment which he wanted more eluded him.

“Uhm...am I the only one thinking about taking our plates to the library?” Glorfindel asked, unable to stop thinking about the foreplay possibilities that had just opened up. “Káno, sweetie? I promise you a nice body rub, if it would help your head. Ache. Your aching head,” he tried to salvage. “Shit,” he whispered, his cheeks flaming pink. “Your headache.” He buried his head against Gildor’s shoulder, not entirely able to believe he had just said half of that. “I apologize for my brain.”

“What?”  Fingon, half oblivious to the happenings, suddenly asked, “Where did Elrond and Celebrian go?”  He had been slowly working his way through the sweet potatoes on his plate.

“They will be back later,” Maedhros said hurriedly.  “How are the green beans for you? Is the seasoning to your liking?”  Once again, this suggestion caused Fingon to try the next vegetable on the plate.  Maedhros looked at Glorfindel and mouthed to him, ‘Go upstairs. We will be up later.  He needs to eat.’

“Yes,” Glorfindel swiftly agreed, realizing that Fingon was not remotely in his same sphere and that he needed to use the head on his shoulders just at this moment. “But it can wait. The food really is lovely.”

“No, Fin, it was a good idea,” Erestor said, deftly sectioning out the cheesecake. A very sizable portion was moved onto a clean plate. He had actually eaten his savory food, and so could carry on with dessert. “Bring your plates so we need not dirty more dishes, and I will bring the dessert along. Glorfindel, Gildor, I request the honor of your company so that we might leave Fingon to a quieter repast.”

Swallowing hard, Glorfindel nodded and rose. He had his plate, but instead of heading directly for the stairs he came around to Fingon.  _ I have not words for the place you hold in my heart, dear Káno. Be at peace, and know you are loved.  _ With a kiss to the crown of his head and a loving caress across his back, he followed the others to the library.

Fingon looked up.  He tilted his head, for he had felt some sort of deeper connection to Glorfindel, much like when they spoke to each other with their minds, but the sedative dulled not only the pain, but his thoughts as well.  He blinked when he looked around to see that now it remained just two of them in the room. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

“No, baby, you are doing everything right,” crooned Maedhros as he turned the plate a little. “Did you want to try some of this pie?  It should be cooled by now. Erestor accomplished quite a lot to have made these himself.”

And Fingon continued to eat his supper under the supervision of Maedhros.

Meanwhile, the others reached the library.

“I want to have adult playtime, and I want to know what happened with Fingon in the kitchen--that is, if it is not being hopelessly nosy of me,” Erestor pleaded, having already placed the cheesecake somewhere safe. In emphasis of his willingness, Erestor traced a single finger across Gildor’s collarbone, and a short way down the midline of his chest, before stopping to loosen a single tunic tie with a flick of his deft fingers. Then he laid himself down on the cozily arranged mattresses and cushions, appearing quite like second dessert.

“You are so exquisite, Ress” whispered Glorfindel, squeezing Gildor’s ass while he beheld the dark beauty.

Gildor shivered slightly at the pace that even he did not expect.  “Fingon took himself to where I am now keeping the medicines for him, and he did such a good job of measuring and administering it himself.  I was there of course to make sure the dosage and combination were correct, but the rest he did on his own. Then we had a little talk while it kicked in.  About Mae Mae, and my feelings for him and my feelings about their feelings for each other. He was mostly quiet, but he kept saying he was sorry, and I kept telling him not to be.”

Erestor nodded slowly, holding out a hand to each of the ellyn in invitation. While they accepted and settled themselves, Glorfindel spoke. “I want Ress to tell you what happened on our end, since tonight my eloquence leaves something to be desired--unless, that is, you already heard it through Mae. I believe that you two communicate through your bond even more than we do.”

“Normally, yes, but tonight, he is really focused on helping Fingon,” explained Gildor.  “I have a pretty good idea that you gave him permission or something regarding Fingon, because I can tell he is a lot more at peace than he has been about the matter.”  Gildor reciprocated the touches from Erestor and lazily kissed his shoulder.

“Exactly so. That and, Elrond wishes to examine Fingon. I intend to do what I am able to create such an opportunity. The discussion all occurred with Elrond and Celebrían included, and Mae was informed of Elrond’s other wife. You remember Gilraen? Anyway all of us gave Mae our blessing. Our reassurance that we support whatever does or does not develop. And now I have one last question. Are you truly at peace with this, Gildor? I know Fin has spoken with you, but I too have faced the fear of losing my spouse to another. In my case, it actually happened--and Fin, no looks of shame or guilt. I bring this up to remind Gildor that he can speak of any concern, worry, fear, anything.”

“I am trying, Ress,” Glorfindel acknowledged. “I am going to learn how not to have those feelings take over my mind. I made that mistake and we all learned things and oddly enough that experience gives us a rare insight.”

“Yes,” Erestor answered, a little surprised. And pleased. “Yours is a beautiful spirit, Fin.” Now his attention returned to Gildor, into whose tunic his fingers were lazily making inroads.

“My priority is Maedhros.  If there is something that he needs to make him whole, I am not about to deny him that.  I like Fingon. I want him to be happy, too. I thought that this was going to bother me, but as I watched them tonight...I think they both need each other.  I know that does not put me in a lesser place. I am willing to see it through, whatever that might be. Perhaps I am so willing because I know I will not be alone should they need time to be alone with one another.”  Gildor twisted to his side as he removed his tunic and then boldly straddled Erestor. “At least, I cannot imagine I will be alone,” he purred.

Erestor, already hard, gasped at the sudden friction against his erection. A little moan was released to feel the weight and delicious warmth of another body. “You will not be,” he assured. “There is another aspect to all this I never would have guessed at,” he gasped lightly--for the pace of his breathing quickened. “I love you, but not as I expected to. I see the sacrifice, the risk you are willing to embrace, and I know that the man I love may be the beneficiary of that willingness. For Fingon is my priority, and that he might be indirectly helped by the freedom to explore his feelings--that powerfully attracts me to you. Here,” Erestor said, gently cupping his hand over Gildor’s heart.

Glorfindel had used the time of this conversing to divest himself of his clothing, and now turned his focus to how he was going to enjoy removing two pairs of trousers in any manner that came to mind.

“I just remembered the yearnings I had in Rivendell, when I tried so hard to convince you to stay the night with Glorfindel and I and you never did.  With Elrond under this roof, it just feels like Rivendell again.” Gildor raked his nails slowly down Erestor’s chest, stopping a third of the way down to scrape them back and forth over the sensitive, budded nubs before he continued along his path.  “It is my desire to have you with us this evening, chief counselor,” Gildor said, words slurring together. “We would be delighted to indulge you.” He began to grind against Erestor as he finished his last sentence.

“Ohhhh!” Erestor groaned. “Oh you will--please, at least get my trousers off before you cause me to spill!”

Glorfindel, only too glad to help, playfully pulled Gildor off of Erestor, expertly tugging at the ties on his trousers and working the offending fabric down his legs. “We cannot have that,” he teased. “I want dessert to last more than a minute.”

Gildor sat back and removed his own pants with a little shake and a shimmy.  “I just want to make sure I get a taste of dessert,” he said as he nuzzled bare skin, and from Erestor’s ankle up to his thigh, he rubbed his cheek and kissed soft skin, and at times would playfully nip at Erestor’s flesh.  Loincloths were tugged away, and Gildor once again resumed his position. “Now… where were we?” he asked as he ran his nails up from Erestor’s waist, and stopped again to tease the straining, aroused nipples on Erestor’s chest.  “I forgot how much fun this part is with you.”

“I think,” Erestor panted, “that the Counselor of Rivendell has offered himself for your pleasure. I--ohhh,” he groaned helplessly against Gildor’s onslaught. “Fin,” he begged. “Lie next to me, close. Let me experience him with you.”

Glorfindel obligingly nestled against his mate, close but leaving room for Gildor to move freely. An graceful foot caressed Gildor’s leg lightly, interspersed with Glorfindel leaning in to kiss and nip at the perfect neck and shoulder. Sometimes he picked up a swath of the ebon hair, teasing the fringe across Erestor’s sensitive chest.

It was obvious that Gildor was also aroused despite his calm words, and he positioned himself so that his erection was aligned with that of Erestor.  The movements of his hips were slow and sensuous, and contrasted with the fondling of his fingers as nails dug into sensitive flesh, and he rolled the already engorged, red nubs between his thumb and index finger.  “Rivendell’s Chief Counselor is a very generous man.” Gildor’s tongue lingered on each word, and then he leaned in, sealing his mouth over Erestor’s, and demanding swift entry of his honey-worded tongue, which he licked back and forth along the roof of Erestor’s mouth before ending the kiss with a loud, sloppy pop.  “I see that we are ever so honored to have the noble Captain of the Guard with us this eve.” He turned his head to wink at Glorfindel.

“The Captain of the Guard is obligated by duty and courtesy to see to the needs of esteemed travelers,” Glorfindel smiled up, his rosy cheeks flushed from the sensual scene before him. “The Lord of our Valley insists upon it. Though perhaps he did not have exactly this in mind.” Mischievous eyes twinkled with happiness and good humor. “Is that not correct, esteemed Counselor?”

“Ohhhhm,” Erestor moaned, thoroughly preoccupied. “The, ah, sacred laws of hospitality are taken most seriously by the senior staff of our great Lord. For persons deemed most lofty, he assuredly would not begrudge the heartfelt magnanimity of his dedicated vassals.” With Gildor distracted by his florid speech, Erestor reached a hand that mysteriously was well-oiled to grasp both their lengths together and deliver one indulgent and intensely stimulating stroke.

This motion drew both a shiver and a groan from Gildor, and he claimed another kiss as he lifted his body slightly in order to give Erestor enough access to finish what he started.

“Oh, you like this?” Erestor panted. “I thought you wanted to taste me, and I have yet to have the same pleasure with you. I leave it to your expansive imagination as to how we can both have our wish.” His remaining free hand sought out Glorfindel’s groin, touching and caressing his mate.

“You have... such dexterous hands, lo--uh, Chief Counselor,” said Gildor, catching himself despite losing some control.  “It must be all the signing of documents and...oh, fuck, whatever it is bookworms do with their hands,” he muttered. 

The door, left unlocked, was now opened with a kick of Maedhros’ foot, for he had Fingon nestled in his arms.  “The medicine is kicking in,” he whispered as he took Fingon to the couch and lowered him into a nest of pillows, one of which Fingon reach for and cuddled to his chest.  Only now did Maedhros see the state the others were in. “Wasting no time, I see,” he teased gently. “Did you even finish...nope, dinner is over there,” he realized. “Do not let me interrupt.  As you were,” he whispered as he helped Fingon sit up a little so that he could sit down and let Fingon just his thigh as a pillow. 

Now with an audience, Gildor wiggled his butt with theatrical flair.  “You could always join us,” he suggested, but Maedhros shook his head and motioned they should proceed.

“It is my fault,” Glorfindel told Maedhros contritely. “Sometimes I think with the wrong head and…” He sighed and shrugged, twisting away from the carnality before him to crawl over to Fingon. Delicately, he traced a finger over his mate’s cheek. “Sweetheart, are you feeling a little better?” he whispered to Fingon, his eyes swimming with concern.

“I feel full,” he said sleepily.  “You should go play.”

Maedhros seconded this with a poke at Glorfindel’s shoulder.  “I promise I am taking care of him. It looks like you have your own things to take care of.  There is no reason to feel wrongly about what you are doing.” Maedhros stroked Fingon’s braids and looked down to ask, “Remember when we used to be like that?”

Fingon closed his eyes and smiled.  “I remember an afternoon when Celegorm walked in on us for the third time that day and he accused us of being part rabbit.”

“I know you are, Mae,” Glorfindel smiled at the rabbit comment, bestowing first a gentle kiss on Fingon’s lips followed by an equally chaste one for Maedhros. A brush of his thumb against Maedhros’ cheek was the last sign he gave of his thanks and acceptance before he returned to the play unfolding behind him.

“Fin!” Erestor breathed, making a grabby-hand gesture toward the box of toys. Grinning, Glorfindel caught his mate’s thought and hurriedly procured the instrument his husband wished used on Gildor.

“On it!” he replied cheerfully, knowing that he would next be the recipient of Erestor’s attentions. Yes, the anticipation of Erestor’s nice hard something up his rear excited him as much as the erotic show.

Maedhros continued to smooth back Fingon’s hair and stroke along his arms and face.  “How is your head feeling? A little better, better, or a lot better?” 

Fingon held up two fingers spread a tiny amount apart.

“Here.  Let me help you up a little and then you can watch without being sideways, and I can rub your head.”  Maedhros managed to get Fingon seated so that he sat behind the brunet. Single-handedly, he eased the tension in Fingon’s head and neck.  “Sweetheart, Elrond mentioned in passing that he would offer a full physical examination, if you were willing.” These words caused Fingon to tense up a little, but he relaxed as Maedhros continued.  “You know that with all of the practice you do, both dancing and gymnastics, that you could have a stress fracture you are completely unaware of, and that head pain can be due to so many other things that might be off.  You do not have a personal trainer here or an athletics healer--no one who would notice these things. I think it is a generous offer of his time.”

“Sounds like a trap, but I can also tell you mean well,” answered Fingon.

“What if I let him do the same for me, hmm?  Maybe he can find a way to alleviate some of the nerve pain I experience from time to time.”

Gildor suddenly looked over upon hearing this revelation.  Movements paused, he reached out to Maedhros.  _ This is the first I have heard of this--are you saying this to convince Fingon, or is this something you were keeping to yourself. _

_ This is something no one could help me with.   _ Maedhros looked over the top of Fingon’s head to lock eyes briefly with Gildor.   _ I went to so many healers, but I never considered asking Elrond.  It is not that I meant to keep it from you--it is just that it has been for so long, it is just a thing I live with.  Do not fret about me. Enjoy yourself. I am not in pain right now, if that is part of your current concern. _

This seemed to appease Gildor, and he turned his attention back to Erestor.  “I get the feeling you have a surprise for me,” he purred.

“Not so much me only,” Erestor smiled. “But it will require that you turn around so I can have your cock in my mouth.

Glorfindel expertly hid the sex toy out of sight, so that Gildor’s temporary scrutiny of him yielded no information. “You will like it,” he affirmed with a perfectly innocent expression.

“Like it?  I expect to love it.  The hospitality of Rivendell is certainly generous,” Gildor said as he willingly complied with the request.  “Long have I been aware of the oral talents of the Chief Counselor, but never did I dare believe I would be a recipient.”

On the couch, Fingon turned his head to look up at Maedhros.  “Are they pretending, or putting on some sort of play for us?”

“A little of both, I would wager.”  Maedhros began to work the tension out of Fingon’s shoulders.  When he reached a certain point on the left side, Fingon winced.  “Does that hurt?” he asked with concern.

Fingon rolled his shoulder.  “I fell off the high bar in the back in the other day.”

“So...Elrond?” Maedhros tried again.

Slowly, Fingon nodded his head.  “Better to treat a minor injury now than have something major suddenly happen.”

Glorfindel had been listening to every word. While he did not wish to disturb the intimacy between Fingon and Maedhros, his heart compelled him to say something.  _ You have just made me very happy. I love you, so much. Forgive me for worrying--I cannot help it.  _

This fragmentation of his attention did not stop him from introducing the well-lubricated toy to Gildor’s entrance, and rotating it temptingly. He at least had the distinct advantage of knowing second only to Maedhros what pleased Gildor, and intended to make very good use of it. As he guessed would happen, Gildor tried to press back against the phallus. Thoroughly enjoying acting the minx, he had no intention of allowing penetration until it suited his--and Erestor’s-- agenda.

“Would you mind if we picked up where we left off on the rooftop, Finya?” asked Maedhros, resurrecting a long lost pet name he had once used for the elf snuggled in front of him.

A blush crept up Fingon’s neck.  Perhaps it was hearing the name again, whispered against his ear, after so long an absence.  Perhaps it was the display before him, watching the vigor with which his husbands were sharing delight with his ex-lover’s mate.

No.  Fingon shut his eyes, brow furrowed.  Not  _ ex _ -lover.  Not anymore, it would seem.

To answer, Fingon turned his head and brushed his lips against those of Maedhros.  The sweetness of the potato mash and honeyed carrots still lingered, and they each timidly moved a little closer, exploring once familiar territory at a comfortable pace.

“Not fair!” Gildor gasped. “So so not fair. So so so--”

“Gildor, sweetie? My flamboyant peacock wildcat?” Glorfindel asked with a musical lilt.

“Yes, darling?” Gildor preened, arching his spine and fluffing his hair over his shoulder.

“Erestor has something to keep your mouth busy. And I believe he wants something in his own mouth so…”

“Mmmmf!”

Erestor, chuckling, guided Gildor gently toward his arousal until he was able to push between the unresisting lips. With his quarry finally silenced, he gave Glorfindel the thumbs-up signal and happily began tending to Gildor’s manhood.

“Perfect,” Glorfindel smiled, clapping his hand lightly against his thigh, just as pleased as if he had discovered a prize vegetable in the garden. “Now,” he spoke to himself, brow furrowing in concentration. Joined with Erestor’s thought, they began the merciless tag-team pleasuring of Gildor, determined to see how much he could withstand.

On the couch, Fingon was more comfortable straddling Maedhros now, and with him kneeling and Maedhros sitting, it meant they were aligned face to face.  Nothing occurred more than kissing and caresses, and exchange of shy smiles and giddy nuzzles. Sometimes, Fingon would teasingly seem as if he was about to kiss Maedhros, only to pull back with a little grin.  Maedhros kept the younger Elf in check by occasionally sneaking caress along Fingon’s ear, which would cause him to moan and lean in so that Maedhros could steal a proper kiss.

“MmmmmMMMMFFF” and strings of similar noises emitted from Gildor, interspersed with wiggles and moans. Finally, Glorfindel penetrated Gildor with the toy, causing such a groan of delight that Erestor was pushed over the edge by the sudden increase in stimulation he received.

Crying out, Erestor released into the warmth of Gildor’s mouth and paused for a moment to recover himself. “Excellent work, Fin,” he commended. “On to plan B.”

“Plan B. Right away, Chief Counselor,” Glorfindel grinned. This was fabulously entertaining. Subtly, he began to change the angle with which he drew the toy in and out. At the same time Erestor would cease all use of his mouth, his mate would work the phallus so as to teasingly feather it over Gildor’s most sensitive spot.

Having since swallowed down what Erestor had to offer, he was free to speak once again. “Mae Mae! They are pitiless,” Gildor whined, even as he desperately tried to wiggle his ass to gain more stimulation.

“You love it,” called out Maedhros before he concentrated on Fingon once again.

“Did you hear that, Captain? Our guest of honor thinks us cruel. What say you to this?” Erestor deadpanned.

“I have indeed heard his words,” Glorfindel answered in deeply earnest tones. “How do you propose to resolve the situation, dear Counselor?”

“My judgement in this case would be to set forth a compromise. Look, here is our little two minute sand-glass.” With a great reach, Erestor curled his long fingers around the object in question. “We shall lavish the attention on him that he so greatly desires--and if he can withstand our efforts until the sand runs out, we shall oblige him with an encore. That seems more than generous, does it not?” Erestor stifled a laugh, amazed at the caliber of his own bullshit. 

Glorfindel had to pinch his arm quite hard to control his mirth. “Indeed. Quite generous, Lord. Well then. Shall we?”

Gildor, having heard all of this, looked like a young elfling having just been told he could have all the sweets in the candy shop and not knowing which jars to raid first. “Mae Mae!” he gasped, beside himself as the pair worked to make him orgasm with focused intent. “What do I do?!?”

“Oh, honestly, if you need my help on this, I shall begin to think you an imposter.”  Maedhros aided Fingon in turning back around to sit before him, and he rested his chin on Fingon’s good shoulder.  “So, which of the items in that box is your favorite, Finya?”

“Mmm...none of them, really,” said Fingon.  He reclined against Maedhros as Maedhros leaned back against the couch.  “I seem to be particular about what I allow to be shoved up my ass.”

“Makes sense.  What was your favorite of the things we used to play with?  Surely you have a particular item in mind?” Maedhros kept his hand above the waist as he lazily touched Fingon’s skin.

Fingon glanced at the timer, which was half run out.  “I should think the leather cuffs you had crafted that fit my wrists and ankles.”

“That almost seems tame, compared to some of the things we kept hidden under my bed.”  Maedhros whispered a kiss against Fingon’s cheek. “Why the leather?”

“Why not?  Versatility, I suppose.  You could use them as a means of binding me to your bed, or stretch my arms up over my head, suspending me from a beam in the barn.  They were decorative enough that I could wear them out, and only the two of us knew what the night would bring when we returned home.”

For a brief moment, a flicker of uncertainty ran through Gildor, before he recalled himself. “I never shirk from a challenge,” he gasped, feeling his pleasure building and trying to slow it. “Must think of other things. Asfaloth. Asfaloth fucking every mare in sight. Wait, not helpful Gildor, not helpful at all. DogDog knocking up my precious baby No no no no no just more sex, that will not do...burnt okra, yes, that has potential focus focus, burnt yucky okra. Yes, that just might be the tick--dammit, okra looks like a bunch of cocks. Uhm uhm cheesecake, Erestor likes cheesecake, Erestor is cheesecake, no, still no good oh no no no ah! I win!!” He pumped his fist in excitement that the sand-glass had emptied, while poor Glorfindel worked the phallus with tears of hilarity pouring down his cheek. 

Acknowledging their little game had reached an end, Erestor hollowed his cheeks once again, while Glorfindel worked the toy roughly, just as Gildor preferred. With an impressive roar, he spilled his seed. The dark beauty smiled and left him clean when he finally withdrew and collapsed in a heap.

“Magnificent,” Glorfindel approved, clapping politely now that manning the toy was no longer his responsibility. “You were very flamboyant peacock wildcat-ish.”

From the couch, both occupants clapped politely.  “Was that the encore, or is there more for us to look forward to?” asked Maedhros with sincerity.

“Well…” Glorfindel looked longingly at Erestor. “Káno does not feel well, and I was sort of hoping to…”

“I will not leave you unsatisfied,” Erestor told him warmly, sitting up. “Come here to me, and...wait. Forgive me, Káno. I should ask you instead of assuming. Do you…?”

Surprised, Glorfindel turned his eyes to Fingon, who seemed so content and comfortable in Maedhros’ arms. He did not wish to disturb that, and yet Erestor had asked the question.

“Uhm...I am not really...I mean, I enjoy watching you, but I am not really aroused, so I doubt I would be much use,” said Fingon.

Gildor, who was sprawled on the floor, lifted his head.  “Arousal increases the excitement of the blood, which can also exacerbate headaches.”  He rested his head back onto his arm.

“Also, we were just having a nice conversation about bondage,” said Maedhros.  “If you will excuse us…”

Glorfindel nodded. At least they had asked, to ensure it was what their mate wished. Crawling over to Erestor, he laid down and raised his knees for a moment. “This is what I would like, if you are willing.”

“More than willing, beautiful,” Erestor whispered. Straddling one of Glorfindel’s thighs, he raised the other leg. Once his husband’s limbs were supported with a cushion to allow Erestor access, he started the slow dance of making love to Glorfindel. The difference between what they had done with Gildor and what they did with each other starkly contrasted. Erestor sensed the many emotional swings his husband had experienced that day, and determined to gently but dominantly love him as he most enjoyed. With a contented sigh, Glorfindel yielded to Erestor’s questing tongue that insistently kissed him. They shared love, reassurance, and need.

Maedhros caught Gildor’s eye and patted the empty side of the couch.  A second invitation was unnecessary, and Gildor picked himself up from the floor.  He snagged a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around himself before he flopped down and leaned against his husband.  “So. Bondage. I hear it is in this season.”

Fingon snorted and Maedhros shook his head.

What Fin wanted was not destined to take long. Their coupling was meant to share their deep affection for each other and provide Glorfindel a release. Little space remained between their bodies. Erestor thrust firmly into Glorfindel, while the smaller elf wrapped his legs around Erestor’s waist. They remained locked in a close embrace until Glorfindel went noticeably rigid, melting into Erestor’s hold. The only indication of Erestor’s second climax was the intesity of his kisses with Glorfindel, and the few quickened thrusts as he spent himself. Deeply relaxed, they did not separate. Glorfindel cherished Erestor’s weight pinning him down after they loved each other, and released several deep sighs of happiness until finally their limbs untangled and Erestor carefully rolled to one side, still snuggled tightly against his husband. 

“Thank you,” Glorfindel spoke at last, kissing Erestor once more on the lips. “I have not forgotten. I am going to serve all of us the cheesecake. At least, whoever would like some.”

“We already had ours downstairs,” said Maedhros, speaking for himself and Fingon.

“That means more for me!” Gildor half tumbled from the couch to join Glorfindel and Erestor for cheesecake.

“I will slice it, then.” Glorfindel rose up, moving the knife over and over until the precise amount Gildor wished had been managed. He started to give Erestor as much, before he heard that less was wished.

“Sorry, I filled up on my dinner pie,” the scholar apologized. 

“Not a problem,” Glorfindel affirmed. Once Gildor and Erestor were served he gave a passing thought to Asfaloth, but shook his head No. Not after today’s events. “Well,” he began, trying to make conversation. “Today was lovely. What are everyone’s plans for tomorrow?”

“To find a leatherworker,” answered Maedhros.  Fingon giggled and punched Maedhros gently in the thigh.

“I could--oh,” Glorfindel bit his lip. “Maybe I cannot. Uhm, I thought I would finish picking vegetables in the afternoon, and perhaps paint in the morning when the light is best. That is, if my model is still willing?”

Gildor nodded affably, given that his mouth was full of cheesecake.

“Work, for me,” Erestor answered, suppressing a contented belch from the cheesecake. No one seemed quite sure what else to say.

“If the two of you do not mind,” said Fingon as he slid off of the couch, “I think I am going to go to the roof and stargaze for a little while.”  

“Me, too,” answered Maedhros almost immediately as he stood.

Fingon looked momentarily surprised, but recovered.  “I...sure.”

“If it is alright with you,” Maedhros said awkwardly.  He began to sit back down.

“I hold no monopoly of the roof,” replied Fingon.

Maedhros lifted a brow.  “That is not exactly an invitation.”

Fingon pulled Maedhros up from the couch.  “We are going to the roof to stargaze,” he said.  He walked to his mates to bestow each with a kiss as Maedhros did the same with Gildor, and then the pair linked arms and left the library, closing the door behind them.

Erestor locked eyes first with Glorfindel, and then Gildor. Moving slowly, on all fours at first, he tracked over to the door, placing his ear against it. Reassured by the definite sounds of walking receding into the distance, he ambled to a chair and flopped into it with far less finesse. For a solid minute, no one said a word; each kept occupied with their own thought. 

Glorfindel broke the silence. “Alright,” he sighed. “Brutal honesty time. How did you feel?” The other two stared back at him. Erestor raised an eyebrow in query, whereas Gildor seemed to be struggling to form sentences he could speak aloud. “Since I started it, I will go first. I loved seeing them together. It was beautiful. But I also felt like an outsider. I have become spoiled, for usually Fingon dotes on me. I know he is not feeling well. Nothing about what I said earlier tonight has changed; I am acknowledging my twinge of insecurity, though. This is a change, and change can seem awkward or uncertain.”

Very close by, they were being listened to.  The footsteps that had been heard only went as far as Fingon deemed necessary before he halted Maedhros and silently motioned him to follow.  They ended up in another room on the second floor, a room with two beds, and Maedhros began to ask for answers. Wordlessly, Fingon shushed him, and took him to a large painting on the wall.  Upon pushing the edge of the frame, a passage was revealed. Maedhros, impressed, silently followed, until they came up behind what was likely another painting, Maedhros realized--a painting, no doubt, found in the library.  He looked to Fingon, who only shrugged and came as close as he dared to listen.

“Uhm, same,” Gildor admitted. “It is the first time since I have been bonded to Mae Mae that I felt I was of secondary interest. But...like what you said. Is that fair, to think that? He did not ignore me. I am having to confess that deep down, a part of me will never feel good enough to deserve him. I believe in truth, that is where my fears come from. Nothing about my mate. And they are fucking adorable together. What do I even do with that, when I want to see more of it?” He sighed. “Is there anything to drink up here?”

“Yes,” Erestor answered, moving a few books aside to bring forth the hidden stash. “But it is kept like this so as to not tempt Maedhros.”

“Oh please,” Gildor waved his hand as if swatting at an insect. “I know he is drinking again. It is alright. I mean, it is not alright, but it changes nothing between us because I love him to pieces. I should have the balls to tell him I know, but right now he seems so happy.” Leaning forward, he took the silver flask from Erestor. “He does not need me adding stress.”

Behind the panel, Maedhros hung his head.  Fingon, mindful that any noises made would give them away, slowly embraced Maedhros and even placed a silent kiss on his cheek.  The close contact helped ease the disappointment in himself a little, and the pair mutually agreed without speaking to hold each other while they continued to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“It is hard, to quit an addiction,” Erestor sighed. “I know. I failed so many times. And yes, Fin, I am failing to answer your question. This is hard to put into words. I trust, with all my heart, that Fingon will not leave me. Leave us. The disaster that has been my life has given me some ability to think on the future, and...I know it will be well in the end. In here,” he patted his heart. “But maybe there is some self-punishment mixed in there too. Knowing how little I actually deserved to have either of you in my life, and how endlessly fortunate I feel to have this love surrounding me. I love Mae too, just not as I love you or Káno. At least, not now--it is a little strange when I still recall changing his diaper. I am content to remain open-minded. That was not very eloquent, but it sums up my thoughts and emotions. Sort of. And yes, they are beautiful together. I feel that something is knitting together that should not have been sundered. Frankly, like when I finally got my head out of my ass in Rivendell and admitted to myself that I needed you, Fin. Sometimes there is no fool like an old fool.”

At the mention of diaper changing, Fingon had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing.  Maedhros did not help matters by mouthing the words ‘I remember changing yours on more than one occasion’ and then holding his nose immediately after.  Fingon gave a playful yet very serious glare, and Maedhros pulled him into a tighter embrace so that Fingon was able to muffle his silent laughter against Maedhros’ chest.

“I feel better, for having spoken these thing aloud,” Glorfindel admitted. “I know I am not alone in having silly fears. And if I am going to be fully honest, I am influenced by my own problems. I have a lot to work on, with Gildor. I am really caught in a cycle of guilt and blame and sorrow; all that feeds into my spurts of anxiety. But it is like what you just said. I know now I can do this, because I finally have real help. I have always loved you, Gildor. Now I am going to be deeply in your debt.”

“Pshaw,” Gildor waved again. “I am not all that, Finde. I am merely trained in the healing arts which...alright, useful. But I cannot do many of the things you can. Just do not forget, I still shit and piss along with the rest of us. Do not idolize me.”

Glorfindel looked down. “Point taken. I want to see the people in my life as my rescuers. Probably that is another thing I have to work on. One mess at a time, I suppose. You should have seen the state I was in when first Fingon and Ress brought me here. It was...bad.”*

Gildor shrugged. “Happens.” He took another swig of the flask. “I am not tired enough for sleep but neither do I wish to look at the stars.”

“Me either,” Glorfindel agreed. “Is this where we play some really ridiculous game? We could play reverse strip poker.” 

Erestor chuckled. “You mean, where the loser puts on clothes until they are dressed again? That is the silliest thing I ever heard. I like it. Gildor, you are closest to the cards. That top drawer.”

“Twos are wild. Wildcat flamboyant peacock cards,” Gildor insisted.

“Do I even want to know where that got started?” Erestor asked. 

“I was cheering Gildor up,” Glorfindel explained. “He liked being called that.”

“It fits my image,” Gildor said, once again preening.

Erestor rolled his eyes. “I will deal.”

With it obvious that there would be no further discussion on the intimate moments of the evening, Fingon and Maedhros retreated the way they came.  Once safely on the other side of the painting, Maedhros clasped Fingon’s shoulder. “Thank you for trusting me with this secret of yours,” he said.

“Thank you for not ratting me out to the others.”  Fingon did not look as guilty as Maedhros expected him to.  “Obviously, I have done that before.”

“Numerous occasions, I am sure,” Maedhros said.

“I found it after Beleg left.  This was the room we used to share.”

“Two beds,” remarked Maedhros.

“We were never quite that intimate,” explained Fingon.

Maedhros nodded slowly.  “I see.”

“We were intimate in our own way,” Fingon said.  He ground his teeth before he added, “He called me his kitten, and, well, that about explains that.”

“Ah.  That manifestation.”  Maedhros leaned against a wall, for most of the furniture seemed dusty now.  “Do you ever talk to your current mates about any of that?”

Fingon wrung his hands around the nearest braids that were conveniently over his shoulder.  “It gets complicated. I doubt they would really understand it.”

“You could try,” suggested Maedhros.

A shake of his head followed.  “I did blurt out something about wanting to be a cat at Glorfindel recently, but again, it gets complicated to explain.  And weird for some people.”

“I have a feeling Glorfindel is the last person who would think something is weird,” Maedhros opined.

Fingon checked to make sure the painting was solidly in place again.  “Maybe,” was all he said.

“Did you know I was still drinking?” asked Maedhros, since the topic was on the table.

“Honestly?  So much has been going on.  I thought I saw you drinking wine the other day, but it could have been juice, so--”

“It was wine,” admitted Maedhros.

Fingon shrugged.  “Happens.”

Maedhros licked his lips.  “Do you want to take a walk?  I do not think I want to stargaze, and sleeping alone does not seem appealing right now.”

Fingon considered the alternatives, and motioned that they should quietly leave the room.

**

“I think you are trying to lose,” Gildor noted to Glorfindel with his usual forwardness, looking up from the newly dealt hand he was frowning at. “No one could possibly be getting worse cards than I, and yet I have clothes on and you have not a stitch.”

“Well, I find it suits my present mood,” Glorfindel retorted, idly stroking his small but proud arousal. “It is hardly my fault that this activity has me staring at the two of you, and that in turn it causes me to remember Erestor’s cock beautifully working my--oh, dammit.” He threw down four cards into the center of the small table and sighed. “This hand needs a miracle.”

Erestor grinned, pleased to enjoy the sight of his mate. In order for the game to go on past three hands, a complex system of dressing and undressing had been assigned to wins and losses. Gildor stared hungrily at Glorfindel’s erection, holding back all of his cards. With an eyebrow arched, Erestor dealt Glorfindel four cards and himself two.

“Shit,” Glorfindel huffed, throwing down his losing hand. “Not even a pair. Clearly I am meant to sit here and masturbate.”

“Two pair,” Erestor said happily, placing his spread of cards neatly before him.

“Straight flushed,” Gildor misspoke, squirming in his chair. “I could help you with that, you know.” A gesture emphasized that he meant Glorfindel’s groin.

“I suppose we could use a little break,” Erestor hinted. “I enjoyed myself twice tonight, and am not adverse to helping you along, Gildor.”

Pants disappeared with alacrity, and Gildor all but yanked Glorfindel out of his chair in order to have him present himself. Standing before Gildor’s kneeling form, he hummed appreciatively when the warm mouth enveloped him. 

Erestor idly lubricated the phallus he had used earlier and gently inserted it without fanfare. Really he did not feel terribly interested in this, but, why not. “You know, I keep thinking about Fingon’s agreeing to that medical exam. I had prepared an entire flow chart in my mind, of strategies by which to slowly persuade him. Coax him. Even shamelessly manipulate him, out of concern for his health. And yet Mae gained his cooperation in under half a minute. How did that even happen?”

Glorfindel produced a noise that began as a snort but ended up as a grunt. “Damn, Gildor,” he whispered, in admiration of the talented tongue. “Good question, Ress. That is kind of what I meant by feeling very much pushed to the back of the line. Fingon is my husband, but Mae knows him inside and out in a way I never will. It is a little hard not to feel resoundingly inferior, but I am working hard not to view it in those terms. We are never going to know him as well as the lover of his youth.”

Gildor paused in his ministrations. “I do not agree, Finde. Mae Mae and Fingon were never going to arrive at this place without you and Erestor having influenced his life. You forget that while they were together off and on for all that long time, that relationship also yielded misunderstandings and mistrust. Poor communication. Secrets. Family interference. Even hatred. It was hardly all roses, and I feel quite confident in saying that were it not for you two, Fingon would be exactly nowhere in the battle against his own inner demons. I flatter myself to say that I hope I also have provided a form of love to Mae Mae that at least previously, Fingon could not.”

“All valid points,” Erestor admitted. 

Glorfindel pulled back slightly, and Gildor remained motionless before he spoke. Their erections had vanished. “You may never hear me say this again, but suddenly I have lost interest in continuing with our carnal play.”

Taking the hint, Erestor slipped the toy out of Gildor. “You are not alone.”

“Fuck the poker, I want my pants,” Glorfindel growled. “Thank you for the attention, Gildor. Any other time and...well, I hope I may have a deferment.”

“Obviously,” Gildor smiled, already replacing his loincloth.

“So,” Glorfindel ventured, “is this a bad time to also mention that after Fingon agreed to the medical exam, that I thanked him for what he had done, here, and received no response at all?” He tapped the side of his head.

“No, Fin. I do not think you are being fair there,” corrected Erestor. “You know he does not have the same abilities we do.”

“It is more than that,” Gildor added, comically hopping into his trousers and balancing on one foot. “Mae Mae has told me about his limitations along those lines. But even were he like you two, able to communicate across distance with those not his mates, the sedatives he took for his pain would wreck his ability to respond. I know that we are all a little unsettled here in this room, but do not assign fault to him for this, Finde.”

“Now I feel like shit,” Glorfindel sighed, flopping back into his chair. “I am sorry.”

“Finde…” Gildor gently corrected.

“I know, I know. Do not feel like shit,” Glorfindel sighed, tossing his head back. “It can be so hard, Gildor. It is so much easier to punish myself.”

“Fin?” Erestor asked, going to him. “You alluded to something earlier, between you and Gildor. We are talking now, perhaps you would explain further to me?” The dark beauty pulled up a chair behind Glorfindel’s, noisily scraping it across the floor. His fingers worked their way into the fluffy golden hair, combing the strands and massaging the scalp. 

“There is not so much to say,” Glorfindel opined. “Or perhaps Gildor can say it better than I will. You know how I get. Someone says something, and I take it as a criticism or an example of my failure. And the next thing I am running off or in tears, followed by hating myself for it afterward. I am better than when you first found me at Elrond’s, but I do not know how to end the thoughts that keep me so often in despair. Gildor said he will help me, that there are things I can learn. So I will do that.”

Gildor cleared his throat. “It is a form of cognitive therapy. We teach the patient to substitute the unhelpful thought patterns and reasoning with ones that have important differences. In Fin’s case, we are beginning with a basic condition--what he has come to believe is true, and separating fact from emotional response. It is not his fault he has struggled; I will give my best to help.”

“That sounds amazing,” Erestor answered, after some consideration of what he had heard. “While I do not wish to intrude, I too have had problems. Could I…?”

“Of course you can, Erri,” Gildor said kindly. “I can already see from Finde’s face that he would welcome you. So will I.” 

Slowly, Erestor nodded. “For all the uncertainties happening right now, I thank Eru you and Mae have come to us. I deeply believe this is somehow a part of His plan for me. Forgive me the sentiment, for I know you do not share my spiritual views.”

“I do not need to, Erri.” Gildor stroked the impossibly silky dark hair. “I only need to know that you are experiencing a greater sense of peace to find joy in your words.”

The room fell silent while each of them reflected. “Now what?” Glorfindel asked.

“Gin Rummy?” Gildor suggested. “Do we have any gin?”

“Gildor….” Erestor growled in warning.

“A man has to try,” Gildor said airily.

“I love you two,” Glorfindel smiled happily.

“We know,” Gildor and Erestor said simultaneously. Hilarity erupted in the room, the sound of their laughter carrying out the open window to places beyond.

Rolling his eyes, Glorfindel dealt the cards.

**

  
  


A walk to the stable soon became a ride to the river, and further still, down slopes less traveled and through forests unmapped, with only the stars to guide them, until they came to a small sleepy village on the seashore.  Here they dismounted, and led their steeds lazily over the sand as they admired the way the stars and moon played off the waves.

“What are you thinking about?” Fingon finally asked to break the silence.

Maedhros had been more distant throughout the ride, even at times falling behind or muttering to himself words that Fingon did not discern.  “I am developing a monologue so that I do not sound like an idiot when I speak to you what is on my mind.”

“You could never sound like an idiot,” countered Fingon.

“Just in case, I am trying to be prepared.”  Maedhros cleared his throat and looked down the shoreline.  There was a launch pier for small vessels up ahead and a few scraggly trees closer inland.  With a tilt of his head, Maedhros struggled to keep his footing in the sand as he took his mount to the nearest tree and tethered him there.  Fingon did the same and followed Maedhros out along the pier until they stood at the end of it, looking out at the sparkle of the water and the stars reflecting there.  “There are times I feel mighty, and then, there are times like this when I feel so small.”

Fingon turned his head and observed Maedhros quietly.  “I have a feeling you are about to tell me something profound.”

“I am going to try.”  Maedhros turned his body so that he could face Fingon when he turned as well.  A moment later, he took to one knee and grasped Fingon’s right hand with his left.  “All those years ago, when your father died, I came and I went right to work on planning battles and finding a suitable wife for you and running your kingdom.  I never did the first thing I should have done, which I am going to remedy now.” He touched his forehead to the back of Fingon’s hand and said, “I pledge my loyalty to you, King Astaldo.  If, by my life or death, I might serve you, it will be my honor to do so.” He then kissed the back of Fingon’s hand and looked down at the ground.

Gently, Fingon cupped Maedhros’ cheek.  “Stand,” he said softly, and Maedhros obeyed.  “If a time should come that King Astaldo exists, he accepts your loyalty and would be honored to have you serve him as his Chief Guardian.”

Again, Maedhros kissed the back of Fingon’s hand.  “I will protect you with my very life, and die for you if I must.”

“Let us hope it never comes to that.”  Fingon squeezed Maedhros’ hand. “Does Gildor know you intended to make this oath unto me?”

“Yes.  In fact...well, no, I should not spoil that.  Let him speak with you on his own,” he scolded himself, and while Fingon raised a brow, he did not press further.  “Shall we get back?” he asked.

Fingon nodded.  “They should be done with their card game by now.  And...whatever else,” he settled on.

“Race you back?” suggested Maedhros.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then, like a pair of elflings, sped down the planks of the pier, each attempting to edge past the other without sending one’s cousin into the water.  There was a hasty retrieval of the horses, which left Maedhros without a shoe temporarily, and Fingon somehow backwards on his horse until they sorted themselves out before the local Magistrate could come to scold them.

Within an hour, they were home.  At the stable, they dropped off their mounts with Asfaloth, who was only too happy to tend to them after Fingon presented him with a floral crown he and Maedhros wove when they became distracted in the field halfway home.  Each of them had two more floral wreaths looped on an arm, while Fingon had quite a tall one on his head, woven into place with one of his braids.

They entered the cottage, then without discussion, raced giddily up the stairs, only to stop outside of the library.  After listening for a moment, they could tell that those they left earlier were still inside. Fingon stood up straight, and stomped his foot twice.  Maedhros swung the door open and stepped inside, loudly announcing to the others, “The King!” before he chuckled and entered the room with flowery Fingon behind him.

Glorfindel immediately rose and wrapped his arms around Fingon, standing on Fingon’s feet with tippy toes in order to kiss his jaw. Erestor somewhat more reservedly offered the same manner of greeting. “My King,” Erestor smiled, dipping his head.

“Rummy!” Gildor declared with deep satisfaction. “We had a lovely series of card games, Mae Mae,” he declared. “I missed you, darling. Almost no matter how I tried I could not get my pants off. And then once they  _ were _ off I really had to put them back on. It was not the same without you, but I held my own.” 

Glorfindel could not help sniggering at the description. “Oh Gildor, only you could say that. I am afraid I have missed your unique perspective on life.”

After Fingon took his time nuzzling each husband, he fluffed up the flowers of the crowns he held, and motioned to Maedhros that he required the two that he held as well.  Maedhros looped them around the same arm that held the other two that Fingon had and then announced, “The King has a proclamation!” He then bowed low with a flourish and motioned to Fingon.

“Not sure if I would call it a proclamation,” Fingon said gently.  He looked down at the woven flowers around his arm, and then back up at the others.  “The last time people addressed me as King, it was a lonely life. I thought it was a burden I was forced to bear alone.  Now that I have had quite literally ages to reflect upon that belief, I know that it does not need to be that way. Yes, there is but one person the Noldor call High King, the physical representation at one time of Middle-earth, and now, of Valinor.  I do not want to have to do this alone,” he admitted. He looked at each in turn, and then, with his eyes upon Glorfindel, said, “Should it come to fruition, be Valinor with me. Please.” He held his breath.

Unrehearsed, Erestor took Fingon’s right hand and sank to one knee. “I am with you. Sworn to be yours and to walk at your side. I shall be whatever you require.”

Already Glorfindel had followed suit, holding the left hand, though he closed his eye after he knelt, hoping and praying that for once, suitable words would be his. “I love you. I promised you my loyalty before our Father Eru. Since that moment I have been yours, in body and spirit. To hear your wish is enough for me; I shall see it done.” Both he and Erestor kissed the hands they held. First on the back, and then the palms, before raising their eyes to him.

Then Fingon, too, knelt before them, and placed an arm around each.  “You do not bow to me; we are one. Together.” He leaned his head in so that it touched each of the others’ foreheads at the same time.  “I cannot say I will not still struggle, for I will. I cannot say I will not fail, for I am only Elven. I cannot even say that this fixes everything, for I am weaker than most beyond this room will ever know.  But I can say that my life is better and fuller with both of you--with all of you,” he amended as he lifted his head and looked beyond to where Gildor and Maedhros stood, “in it.”

“As you wish,” Glorfindel spoke, reaching to hold Fingon and Erestor by the waist, bringing them closer together. “But I am kneeling at the moment, and I will not apologize. There. Glorfindel is being assertive,” he half-told himself.

“Everything will be well, Fin. Both of you, Fin. We are all stronger together. And either we need to rise or two others need to come down here for group hug,” Erestor insisted.

“Group hug! Mae Mae, you know how I love group hug,” Gildor enthused, practically dragging Maedhros to the floor and not so subtly inserting the two of them between Fingon and Erestor, with Maedhros closest to Fingon.

For a few minutes, the five of them remained there, clinging to one another, saying nothing, sharing in twos and threes knowing looks and glances that said more than words might have.  Eventually, Maedhros nudged Fingon and said, “The flowers will wilt if--”

“Oh!  Right!”  Fingon at once remembered the floral crowns on his arm.  Each had a different color of flowers wound into it, and his was bursting with all sorts.  He addressed Glorfindel first, for there could be no question as to whom would be honored with the golden flowers.  “I proclaim you King of Hearts,” Fingon said as he lifted the wreath of flowers and placed it upon the soft golden waves.  It fit perfectly, and he smiled and kissed Glorfindel’s lips in a slightly bashful manner.

“I like that,” Glorfindel blushed. “And suddenly I feel so pretty. Please no Asfaloth jokes,” he begged his companions.

“You will always be more than pretty.  You are Glorfindel the Glorious,” said Fingon.  He now took a crown with flowers that were blue and looked across to Erestor.  “Your title shall be King of Diamonds, with a crown flocked with tiny blue flowers, like the many stars in the heavens--except you are the brightest star in my life, my guiding light.”  Fingon placed the crown on Erestor’s head. “Always will your knowledge and intellect be valued, Erestor the Erudite.”

“Thank you, Lord,” Erestor said, still surprised at what was happening. While his reply was sincere, he could not help that long service to many kings had just taken over.

“Shhh…” Fingon stroked a finger once over Erestor’s lips.  “Not Lord. Only husband. Equals.” He cupped Erestor’s cheeks with both hands and whispered, “Never let me forget that,” before he kissed him as sweetly as he had done to Glorfindel.

“I only meant--” Erestor caught himself, blushing red, for he never would have made such a breach of protocol in the past. At least, not unintentionally. “It shall be as you ask, husband.” Bright and calm eyes stared looked up to Fingon, with a comical little shrug.

Now, Fingon took a crown with the largest of the flowers, these being bold, red roses, and crooked a finger at Maedhros.  “It was your words that inspired this,” he said.

“I had a feeling that might have been the case,” Maedhros said.

As he held the red crown over Maedhros’ head, Fingon said, “As you know, the King of Spades is the most powerful card in the deck.  You, Mighty Maedhros, have proven yourself a force time and again.”

“It is nice to hear that you think that,” said Maedhros as the crown was plopped on his head.

“I do not just think it.  I know it.” While he had kissed his husbands upon their lips, Fingon kissed Maedhros on the brow.

Smiling, Glorfindel and Erestor exchanged a brief, subtle, knowing glance. The kiss could have been placed on Maedhros’ lips--they had inwardly prepared for that possibility. And yet in this exact moment, both of them felt his choice showed restraint and good taste. There were other possibilities the placement of the kiss could signify, of which Erestor informed Fin with his much broader cultural knowledge. A little humbled, Glorfindel gave a tiny nod of thanks to Erestor.

Finally, there was a single crown left, decorated with purple and violet flowers.  “Every time I shuffle a deck of cards, the King of Club catches my eye. By far, the fanciest of all of the face cards.”

“Someone has to be, darling,” replied Gildor as he batted his eyelashes.

Fingon smiled and turned the crown over in his hands.  “There are so many options I have for you. Genuine...gifted...garrulous…”

“Also gay,” piped up Gildor.  “Gildor the Gay. Accurate. Yes?  No? Maybe? You decide,” he insisted when Fingon studied him with a furrowed brow.  “Wait, did I insult you? Are you withholding my crown?” Gildor pouted.

“Gregarious,” Fingon said.

“Mmm...what if I have different things depending on the day of the week?” Gildor suggested.

Fingon laughed briefly and shook his head.  

“We have time to work on it,” Gildor assured him.  He then lowered his head just slightly, in case Fingon was unaware of how much Gildor wanted his crown now.

The purple crown was placed on Gildor’s head, and he was bestowed a kiss upon the cheek.  “And in case anyone has concerns, I made one for Asfaloth that I gave to him first,” Fingon said. “Did you know, in some early decks, there was a King of Bells?  Honestly. I am not making that up.”

Glorfindel bit his lip. “Shoot. Asfaloth probably already ate it,” came the lament. “And he will want another one tomorrow. And, uhm, bells. No, did not know that. I remember decks I saw in Rivendell;, those had coins, cups, swords and...oh, shoot, what was the other thing...shut up, Fin, let Fingon explain.” Pressing his lips together, he gazed up and Fingon. His dimples were particularly noticeable, but it was not to last. “Wands!” he blurted out. 

“If we use that deck,  _ I  _ want to be the King of  _ Wands _ ,” Gildor drawled.

Fingon groaned.  “Are you going to make me regret including you?”

“Maybe,” Gildor answered a little too easily, but he reciprocated with a kiss on Fingon’s cheek to show his gratitude.

“Bells, hearts, leaves, acorns,” Erestor offered sagely, ticking the items off one by one on his fingers.

“Do not stop there, Ress. I know there is more, and I for one do not know the information,” Glorfindel asked. Leaning to Gildor, he whispered: “It is fabulous. Between the two of them it is like being married to an encyclopaedia set.”

“No, no,” corrected Erestor.  “I am the Encyclopedia and Almanac.  Fingon is the Dictionary and Thesaurus.”

“I like Dic...tionaries,” drawled Gildor.

Maedhros shook his head.  “That was bad, even for you, sweetie.”

Gildor briefly buffed his nails on his tunic, examining their shine. “I have a reputation to maintain, Mae Mae. Not to mention, an appearance. I am afraid I require my restorative beauty sleep. I bid you all a good night.” He sucked briefly on his forefinger. Reaching up, he traced the moisture from his mouth along Maedhros’ lips, before adjusting his floral crown. Rocking his hips, he provocatively sauntered from the room.

Few words formulated in Maedhros’ mind.  “I...need...go...there.” He pointed a finger in the direction Gildor had wandered.

“By all means,” Fingon said, and Maedhros rose up and hastily followed Gildor from the room.  “Good...night,” he offered, though Maedhros was either out of earshot or concentrating on other matters.  He pressed his lips together for a moment, and then asked, “Did the three of you have a nice evening?”

“Yes,” Erestor answered honestly. “We played cards, started to be a little frisky, our conversation turned to serious matters, we became decidedly un-frisky, and then we played cards. Am I missing anything, Fin?”

“No,” Glorfindel raised his eyebrows, not having considered that their evening could be plotted with a bell curve. “I do believe that sums it up rather precisely.”

Fingon gave a little nod.  “I see. Did you want to keep playing cards, or should we retire for the night?”

“I really do not wish to see another card for at least several hours,” Erestor insisted. 

“Thank Eru,” Glorfindel mumbled, already making tracks toward the door.

“You two head to the bedroom.  I am just going to clean this up quick.”  Fingon waited until he was alone in the room to gather the abandoned dishes and take them to the kitchen to keep any wayward ants from getting curious--but stopped short when he heard sounds from the kitchen of the forgotten couple that was living under the same roof, who apparently had found  _ the table _ and meant to add their named to the bottom of it.  Fingon left the tray in the great room before he crept back upstairs.  

He paused in the doorway and gave a satisfied look to his lightly sleeping mates, who were spooned together on one side of the bed.  The crowns were hung on one of the bedposts. Intent upon joining them, Fingon hurriedly stripped his clothing--and suddenly ended up on his ass on the floor.

“Fucking son-of-a…” Fingon bit back the rest of his curse as he struggled with his clothing.  He winced when he felt a tug at the nape of his neck, and realized that he had tangled himself, his clothes, his crown, and his braids into quite the knotted mess.  Slowly, meaning not to wake or alert anyone, Fingon eventually managed to win a twenty minute battle, though it ended with his crown a little crushed, and having a long tuft of hair that he unwound from his fingers and tried not to think about.  He very much wanted to unwind the seventy-some long braids, but he also wanted sleep, and sleep won out as he crawled into the bed and draped himself around his lovers before he fell asleep.

  
  



	19. Day 19

####  Day 19 Afternoon 

Erestor glanced up from his portable work table from time to time. This was another clever creation of Glorfindel’s that had already been used for so many agricultural harvest projects that it had become difficult to recall them all. It gave a place for up to four people to make swift work of cracking nuts, sorting fruit, bundling roots--on and on. Today though, he was cleaning grain. With a gloved hand, he rubbed at the mess of grain heads, awns and chaff piled in front of him. Another simple but invaluable invention rested nearby, and now Erestor reached for the crank handle of it -- a fan, with blades of hammered copper. It could be attached to the table, so that with a simple pulley and a few gears made of hardwood the user could generate a narrow column of swiftly moving air and blow the mess away. Soon Erestor’s work produced a tidy pile of grain that had only a few  bits of foreign matter to remove, which he diligently did before sweeping the brownish purple flecks into a storage sack. Another glance up told him that Fingon had not given up yet, but clearly was wavering. So, Erestor poured out another pile of unwinnowed grain.

“Cupcake.” Interestingly, Fingon’s soft voice expressed a statement and not a query. 

“Yes, love?” Erestor replied, keeping any hint of smugness from his features and tone.

“I always win. You know that,” Fingon said slowly, as if working out a logical sequence in his mind.

“Yes,” Erestor agreed affably. “You won my heart, so, I shall not disagree.”

“Yet,” Fingon pondered whilst pointing at his harvest tool, “this thing is winning. And it is an inanimate object. I find this to be not only unacceptable, but barely reconcilable.”

Erestor nodded sagely, leaning forward on his stoop while resting his chin on his hands for a moment. “Scythes are like that. They are a little like horses, come to think of it. Once you learn to get on with them, you wonder where they were all of your life. But the early part of the relationship can be rocky.”

“You speak as though there is at least one story behind that comment.”

“Maaaaaybe.” Erestor smiled enigmatically.

Fingon’s eyes narrowed. “I can see I shall have to coax the tale out of you. Fortunately I have several notions of how best to do that, at least one of which involves a nice hard spanking. For now, I wish to pose a question.”  He tossed the tool onto the ground and circled around Erestor.

“You had me at ‘nice hard spanking,’” Erestor grinned. “What is it?”

Strong arms encircled Erestor’s torso from behind. “Simple, sweetheart. How in fuck do you make this cut anything? Because I have been doing nothing but skimming over the emmer like a moron for twenty minutes now and think I have established that I do not know what I am doing wrong. You have been watching me, somehow have not made overt fun of my predicament, all while I know you likely have mastered its use. Have you not?”

“Maaaaaybe,” Erestor answered again with a big grin, reaching to take Fingon’s arms in his hands, and leaning into the embrace. 

“I think you are about to be in big trouble,” Fingon purred, slipping his hand into Erestor’s tunic to brush repeatedly over a nipple.

“But...but…” protested Erestor, his eyes widening as he felt his body respond involuntarily. “You know what that does to me,” he whined.

“Mmmm then you had best behave yourself,” Fingon chided, kissing the crown of his head. 

“You want me to show you how to use it?” Erestor asked, finally deciding that being a brat was not in his current best interest. He writhed against his husband’s touches, beginning to pant.  The season of harvest was just around the corner, and every day of work counted more now than it did in the summertime.

“I would like that,” Fingon smiled, raising Erestor off of his seat and turning him to enable a very close embrace, kissing down his neck.

“Alright,” Erestor murmured, relishing the affection. It interested him that his sense of feeling deeply enamored outweighed lustful desire. “I love you,” he whispered. “More than I can say.”

“And I you, Eressë.” Their lips met in a sweet and tender kiss. “I will make it worth your while.”

“You already have,” the dark beauty murmured, relishing the simple joy of feeling so very much in love, and releasing Fingon only after a long embrace. “Come with me--as in, walk a short distance,” he clarified, with a twinkle in his eye.

Fingon chuckled but obliged, picking the scythe up from the ground to hand it over to Erestor. Once stopped, Erestor carefully made scraping motions of his thumb across the entire surface of the long blade, frowning. “This might need to be peened again, but at the very least it needs sharpening. The point is decent but the belly is almost dull. It is really important to keep these honed; I find I have to stop every few minutes. May I have the sharpening stone?”

“Is that why I am wearing this thing on my belt?” Fingon asked, amused. “I wondered what it was for, but other than knowing that you wear it when you do this…” he shrugged.

“Oh, Erestor said. “Uhm, there is no water in your holder. That woll not do; the stone has to be wet.”

Blinking, Fingon stared at the object. “Er, be right back.”

Smiling, Erestor admired the grace of Fingon’s stride as he moved to the nearest rain barrel.

“Beautiful.” Glorfindel, who had been taming the okra, appeared behind Erestor, sharing his enjoyment of the view. “Poetry in motion.”

“No,” Erestor countered, taking Glorfindel’s hand. “Song in motion.”

“Fair enough,” Glorfindel agreed. “So, scythe lessons?” Seeing that Erestor nodded, an additional question followed. “Are you going to be nice to him and let him stop before he gets blisters?”

“Yes, I would, but I do not believe he will. Get blisters, I mean. He has so much innate physical ability. Once he understands the basics he will be fine.”

“True. But I still remember what you put me through,” Glorfindel chided.

“I was an asshole--I am sorry, Fin. I would never do that now. Please forgive me, however long ago it was.” Taking Glorfindel’s hands, he kissed the palms that once had bled from Erestor’s little joke--asking him to harvest some oats when he had known full well that Glorfindel had no idea how to use the implement.

“You have changed, Ress. So have I. All was forgiven quite some time ago,” he smiled. “No more living in the past.”

Fingon came jogging back up. “Stone in water,” he declared, collecting a kiss for his efforts.

“So, like this,” Erestor demonstrated the particular motion of running the spike-shaped stone over the blade. “As you can see, this is not the safest thing to do; you are pushing the stone toward the cutting edge and your hand. Never do this without your full attention on the task; I have cut myself badly more times than I care to mention by not heeding my own advice.” It took a few extra minutes to regain the edge, whereupon he handed the stone over to Fingon to finish, correcting him slightly and giving a few pointers. After all, how to sharpen a blade was not exactly foreign to any of them.

Taking the implement back, Erestor continued. “There really are only two basic things to know, but at least for me they were not intuitive. You were swinging the scythe so that the blade was well above the soil, but that is also why you were not cutting anything. It is meant to skim along the ground. If it does not, the cutting edge is not brought to bear at all. Also, you were trying to cut what is in front of you. But when you stand at a row of grain, your target is actually what is behind and to the right of you; that is the part the blade will take in its arc. Like this.” In a motion reminiscent of some exotic dance step, Erestor fluidly swung the scythe into the grain, instantly harvesting several feet and gracefully tipping each cutting to lay down in a neat row for easy bundling into sheaves. “That is really all there is to it. Try to relax your shoulders.”

Fingon turned to Glorfindel. “Is it just me, or does he make that look easier than it is?”

“He has had a lot of practice,” Glorfindel answered, smiling. “However, you can acquire a good proficiency in just a few hours. The more you use it the easier it goes. You are a skilled athlete and warrior; this will not require much of you. Go on, try again.”

Erestor watched Fingon’s next efforts. While it was better in that some actual grain was cut, Fingon’s movements were still haphazard. Shaking his head, he searched for some means to better explain. “Fin, help me here. He keeps raising his blade at the end of his swing.”

“How am I supposed to help?” queried the blond.

“I have an idea. Indulge me. Please?” Erestor asked, his eyes soft and pleading.

Swallowing hard, Glorfindel nodded. “I would do anything for you. Especially when you give me that look.”

“What look?” Erestor wanted to know, baffled.

“That thing you do with your eyes, as if you yearn for something. I have never been able to resist the expression.” Indeed, Glorfindel moved two steps closer.

“I did not...it was not intended,” Erestor smiled, closing the distance to kiss Glorfindel’s brow.  _ Here,  _ he communicated in thought.  _ This is what I thought might help him. _

Glorfindel’s eyebrows raised. “I like it.”

Erestor praised Fingon for his improvements, while asking for a small indulgence.

“You and I are going to scythe together,” Glorfindel announced, stepping in front of Fingon and melding his body against his husband’s--facing away from Fingon.

“I do not see how--” Fingon protested before being cut short. 

Glorfindel swiftly placed his bare feet next to Fingon’s insteps, and wormed his fingers to partially interlace with Fingon’s on each of the grips. The softness of Fingon’s penis could be felt snugly against the cleft of Glorfindel’s buttocks, so closely did Glorfindel press against him.  _ Now we will follow each other. You shall lead the motion, but I shall correct your stroke when it goes awry,  _ Fingon heard in his head from Glorfindel. The tall elf’s eyebrows arched; intrigue and doubt passed through him that this could possibly work. Tentatively, he moved the blade back for the first swing. Glorfindel’s hands fluidly adjusted along his wrist and forearm to allow him his longer reach; his step followed Fingon’s precisely. When Fingon brought the blade around this time, Glorfindel guided it to skim far closer along the earth, and a perfect swath of grain now laid neatly next to them. 

Fingon blinked. “How did you do that?” he asked Glorfindel, finding that the sinuous sensation of his husband moving with him so precisely had captured his attention far more than anything about the emmer. 

“I am with you,” came the simple answer. “Try again? This time see if you can keep going down the row.”

Step after step, swing after swing, they made their way along, moving together as one. Gradually, enough stalks for several thick sheaves amassed nearby. Both Erestor and Glorfindel could feel Fingon’s usually ordered thoughts fragmenting as the sensual movements distracted him more and more, to the point that Glorfindel felt the beginnings of an erection pressing against him.

“We can stop here,” the blond commented, turning to face his partner and collect a kiss. “Did you enjoy that as much as I did?” The blue-green eyes sparkled mischievously, as Erestor watched approvingly from a distance.

The windows in the kitchen overlooking the back portion of the property swung open.  “Lunchtime!” shouted Celebrían’s cheerful voice. She beckoned them in with a wave of her hand before she shut the windows.

“No wonder I was getting hungry,” commented Erestor.  He made quick work of cleaning up his table and tying off the sack so that none of the birds or squirrels nesting in the forest would get it in their heads to stop by for a snack while he was away.  “I will see you both inside,” he added with a smile as he took one last look over his shoulder to see Fingon tucking back a few of Glorfindel’s errant curls.

“I find it odd to think I was enjoying farming like that,” answered Fingon.  He brushed his fingers over Glorfindel’s cheek. “I wonder what else you could teach me.  Of course, Erestor is the expert, but you have much skill in this as well.”

“Born of necessity,” Glorfindel reminded him.  “We used to have a very profitable orchard on the mainland.”  

Fingon chuckled and rubbed his thumb over Glorfindel’s bottom lip.  “My mind wandered from one topic to another,” he admitted. “What I meant was, I have always known Erestor to be more fluent in dance than you.  We have never really danced, you and I, until just now.”

“That?  Oh… I mean, I suppose,” Glorfindel realized.  “I did not think of it as dance. It is much like how I used to practice with swords.”

“Ah… sword dancing.”  A smile played over Fingon’s lips, fading not due to a lack of mirth, but because of the soreness in his jaw in doing so.  “Which technique did you learn, liltamacilórë or macilvanessë?”

“Uh… neither?”  Glorfindel shrugged.  “It was something Elrond taught me, and he called it bainmagol.  He learned it from Gil-galad, who was a much harsher teacher than Elrond.  I preferred Elrond’s lessons, not that there was anything at all wrong with your son,” Glorfindel backtracked quickly.  “He was a fine teacher, but he was a perfectionist.”

“Like his father,” replied Fingon with a twinkle in his eyes.  “It was macilvanessë, then, I am sure of it--just a different name for it at the time.  Do you know the history of sword dancing?” asked Fingon.

Glorfindel shook his head.  “I know you are going to tell me, though.”

“Perceptive,” commended Fingon.  “It was developed for gymnastics a long time ago.  Women would perform and compete in rhythmic competition with clubs, staff, ball, hoop, ribbon, and a variety of other things.  A young male gymnast at the time was jealous of them, and in his free time, developed a series of events for men. Staff and clubs remained, but swords, knives, spear, and whip were added.  That was macilvanessë, and the movements were dance-like and beautiful to behold. Generally the idea was of interest to the gymnastics council, and it was adopted--but changed. The belief then was that beauty and grace should be emphasized with the female athletes, and men should show off strength and power.  Slow and graceful movements were replaced with faster and visually sloppier elements, and it became liltamacilórë.”

“And what of this young male gymnast?” queried Glorfindel, already suspecting the outcome.

“He thought they were all idiots,” Fingon stated with certainty.  “He received little credit for his work, and was not even able to compete in the events because he was already nearing the end of his career and had managed three personal all-around championships.  It disheartened him greatly to see the remnants of his work, but he later wrote a book about the original technique, and it was adopted in Middle-earth as a training technique for warriors. He did not know it had lasted beyond his days in Middle-earth.”

“A happy ending to a bittersweet story,” offered Glorfindel, “for I feel now I should have been able to trace the origins back to you myself.  There were many times that the stances and movements kept me from harm or allowed me to subdue an enemy. I practiced regularly; I had a special room built in my chambers in Imladris for it.  In fact,” he recalled, “I was doing so the night that Erestor and I first spent together. He found me there, and I brushed his hair in that room. Those memories will always be fused with this technique you created.”

Fingon’s eyes glistened slightly as he listened to Glorfindel.  “Then,” he said quietly when his husband was finished, “it would seem, in a way, I was with the two of you even then, and that… well, that brings me some odd comfort,” he said.

“Lunch!” shouted Celebrían again as Fingon and Glorfindel stood in the midst of the emmer, scythe forgotten on the ground.  She shut the window again and tisked as she turned around and shook her head at her husband.

“Just like Rivendell,” Elrond declared as he moved a pot from the stove to a wooden board resting on the table.  “Oh, wait, it was my children who refused to listen to me there,” he remembered.

“I did my fair share of not listening to you,” Erestor reminded him as he began to ladle the vegetable noodle soup into bowls that Gildor diligently set at each place at the table.  All of the chairs were in use, plus an extra brought in to accommodate someone at the end. Asfaloth had long since declared that they were ruining lunch by making it hot and was off in the stable having his own meal (and likely checking the genders of the mounts that Elrond and Celebrían brought with them).  

“Yes, as I recall, you excelled at that,” said Elrond.  “Perhaps that was where my sons got it from.” 

Maedhros was very carefully pouring lemonade into glasses lined up on the counter, and snorted.  “I think that was hereditary, child. I can recall so many stories of twin boys not heeding the directions of their guardians.”

“Stories of belligerent young Elrond!  Oh, lets!” said Gildor with great enthusiasm as Fingon and Glorfindel finally entered the house.  “You really have to do something about that,” Gildor said after he flinched when the door was opened.  “Every time I see you, Fingon, I think it is an intruder.”

“What?” Fingon questioned with narrowed eyes.

“Your face,” answered Gildor, and Maedhros shot him a warning look.  “That whole beard thing. It honestly frightens me a little.”

“I just want to see what it looks like,” Fingon said defensively as he looked around for a way to help.  Celebrían noticed, and nudged him to the bread that still needed to be sliced.

“Does my beard frighten you?” asked Glorfindel as he set a hand upon Gildor’s shoulder.  “I know it is sparser and I do not grow it in often, but I wonder, is it all facial hair, or something about Fingon?”

Gildor glanced between Glorfindel and Fingon, then back.  “I think just him,” he answered to Glorfindel. 

“Not true,” Maedhros interrupted.  He set down the pitcher and leaned against the counter.  “When we visited my Grandfather Mahtan--”

“Oh, right,” remembered Gildor.

“--you made us go find a room in town because on the second night you told me you were not able to sleep in the same house as that man and, I quote, ‘that scary fucking orange caterpillar hanging over his lip, bouncing around every time he talks’.”

Celebrían had to cover her mouth to hide her reaction, but Elrond openly chuckled at it.  “I know what it is, and I should not laugh about it,” said Elrond as his words sobered him.  “It was honestly more the phrasing of your reaction, but I think I know why you are subconsciously having problems.”

“Do tell,” said Gildor as he set the final bowl in place.

Elrond wipe his hands on the apron he had been using and untied it.  “There was a summer when you were in Rivendell with your followers and there was also a group of menfolk from Eastern Rohan who were on a big game hunting expedition and they were taking a rest for a few weeks time.  Most of them were congenial and had a great interest in the history of Rivendell and the work that we did, and in Elves in general. There was one fellow who was… very different. Very big fellow.”

“Rundull,” said Erestor with a nod of his head.  “He was troublesome.” 

“I do not remember this,” said Glorfindel.

“You were in Lothlórien,” explained Erestor.  “This was generally an uneventful visit by a group of men.”

It was Gildor who looked on edge about the discussion, and he sat down and said to Glorfindel, “I did not tell you about the incident because… well, I was quite embarrassed about what he did… well, tried to do.”

“Oh… that sounds… bad,” Glorfindel said as he sat down beside Gildor and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “I assume I would have wanted to kill him?”

“At least,” confirmed Gildor.  

“He had a very strange obsession with the idea of impregnating an elleth,” said Elrond.  “He kept asking for confirmation that if a man and an elf were together, did that mean their child would be immortal, and I had to keep explaining… well, Erestor kept explaining, I did it twice and then made sure I was clear of him as much as possible,” Elrond said.  “He did not seem to be interested in all of the nuances, only that he might be able to father a person with an extraordinarily long life. I kept a very, very, very protective watch on Arwen the entire time, because he made a comment about her that I was not happy about.”

“Why did you not just remove him?” Glorfindel demanded.  “Honestly, this is why I should have been there all the time.”

“His words were strange and unnerving, but we wanted to give the benefit of the doubt that he had a curious mind,” answered Elrond diplomatically.

“Until the night he tried to fuck me against the fountain,” Gildor blurted out.  “Then all bets were off.”

Glorfindel furrowed his brow.  “Did he not realize--”

“He thought I was a girl,” Gildor grumbled.  “In what little defense I can offer him, I was wearing something that was very flowy and skirt-like, was bejeweled and glitterfied, and… and fuck him, why am I defending this asshole?  He caught me by the fountain looking at my reflection, he tried to rape me there, I got away from him and I ran off but I fucking fell off a bridge--one of the unnecessary over land ones--and hurt my ankle and he caught me and tried again.  My leg was useless, my arms were pinned, and I did something I am sure my father would have been proud of--I attacked him with my teeth.” He drummed his fingers on the top of the table. “I drew blood from his ear, and I literally bit off a piece of his face.  A piece with beard, yes, now that I am recounting this, I see where you are going, Elrond. I have issues with men with very full beards because of the experience I had with that little fucker in Rivendell. He had a very full, dark beard and a moustache to match.”

“Certainly, the matter was resolved,” Glorfindel said when there was a pause.

Celebrían looked around, for Erestor, Gildor, and Elrond were all very quiet now, and Maedhros seemed to have some knowledge he was not forthcoming about.  “Yes, what did happen to him? I only recall that he was very prominently there, and then, not, and that no one seemed to inquire.”

“He did not actually manage to rape you, did he?” asked Glorfindel.

“No,” Gildor said, and he turned his head to Erestor.  

“I killed him.”  Erestor took a deep breath and looked down at the table.  “I was out walking with Elrond and we heard the commotion.  There was no one else around, and we both sprinted to the scene.  I was faster--”

“You had pants; I was in formal robes,” recalled Elrond.

Erestor nodded.  “I reached Gildor first.  I tried to wrestle Rundull from him, but he was a big man, and strong.  There was blood, and I knew not whose, and…” He looked at Gildor.

“Well, go on, they know most of it already,” Gildor said.

With another nod, Erestor continued.  “Rundull had his pants half off, and he was erect and was calling Gildor a bitch, talking to him like he was a woman he was going to fuck and impregnate and all sorts of lovely things, and he had torn Gildor’s clothing and was just stabbing his prick at him--”

“I had bruises all over from that asshole,” cut in Gildor.  “Fucking penis bruises… I mean, what the literal fuck?”

“--and I was running out of ideas on how to get him off, when Rundull suddenly had a knife in his hands and was stabbing that back at me,” explained Erestor.  “I… I wish this was not happening as we were just about to eat,” he apologized.

“Erestor stuck his fingers of one hand up that asshole’s nose, and put his other hand in his mouth, and just… pulled them apart, tore his jaw off.  It was gruesomely impressive,” admitted Gildor.

“I had very few options,” Erestor said.  “I thought for certain he would let go before I reached that point.  Or maybe I just do not know my own strength at times. Either way, he let go, but he did not die right away.  By then, Elrond was there.”

“I could have tried to do something, but I just stood guard while he choked on his own blood.”  Elrond licked his lips. “I tended to Gildor, and to Erestor, and then Erestor went off and collected a few shovels, and he and I buried the body under the bridge.  The next day, when someone inquired as to whether Rundull had been seen, Erestor mentioned he had seen him leaving the valley the night before to do some solo hunting.  No one brought him up again, until they were leaving, and that was in the context of where they were going in case we saw Rundull before they did. And that was it.”

“And that is how three Elven-lords got away with murder in Rivendell,” said Gildor.

“I am proud of all three of you,” Glorfindel quietly said. “He got no worse than he deserved. There is no excuse, ever, anywhere, for behavior such as that.”

“Agree,” Fingon said, wanting to accord Erestor extra praise but feeling hesitant about doing so; the mood of those gathered was difficult to ascertain.

“Was that the man who told Arwen she looked like she had good birthing hips?” asked Celebrían.

“That was the inappropriate comment previously alluded to,” confirmed Elrond.

Celebrían walked over and kissed him full on the lips--surprising to Elrond, who was typically reserved, especially in front of an audience.  Gildor whistled at them, and Elrond blushed furiously. “Good job, dearest,” commended Celebrían. “I actually had a few fantasies about murdering him with my bare hands, to be completely honest.  Poor Arwen was so fearful, even after that group left. She thought there was a chance he was lurking around a corner waiting to get her for the next hundred years until I assured her he could not possibly still be there.”

A groan issued from Elrond.  “My sincerest apologies. In keeping this truth from you, I did not know I was causing greater harm.”

“I do not want to cause you undue stress,” Fingon finally said to Gildor.  “If you want, I can shave after lunch.”

“I will also,” Glorfindel said supportively, directing his comments to Gildor. “And do not tell us we do not need to. Your comfort under this roof matters and I intend to respect that this is a trigger for bad feelings.” He waggled a finger in admonition, for he could see the second-guesses forming on the fair face. “Now, that being said, I think we should endeavor for a more pleasant mealtime topic, if everyone concurs.”

“When did he become so commanding?” Gildor asked, involuntarily licking his lips.

Glorfindel crossed his arms. “It was always there. It only shows up when it is needed, is all. Now eat your soup.”

  
  


####  Day 19 - Late Afternoon

As the plates and bowls were being shuffled to the wash basin, Gildor said, “I feel as if I am dictating terms here, and telling you how to look and live your life, though I really appreciate that you are willing to, but I am sure I can learn to live with it if you do not want to.”  He was standing in front of Fingon as he spoke, blocking him from the basin.

“Gildor, it is summertime,” Fingon said plainly.  “Do you know what is worse than regular sweat? Face sweat.  Not on the brow, but disgusting sweat that gets trapped between hairs on the upper lip and chin.  I have a pretty good idea of what this is going to look like if it filled in all the way. My curiosity has been sated for now.  If I want to grow one again, it will have to be winter, when it has some use.”

“And I have just been lazy,” commented Glorfindel as he stroked his chin.  

“Alright, well… I still feel responsible,” Gildor said as he allowed Fingon to pass by.

“If you feel the need to make it up in some way,” suggested Fingon, “you could help Erestor with the crops while we pretty ourselves back up.”

“Pretty up?” Glorfindel smirked. “You make it sound as though we are headed to the beauty salon.”

“That is actually an excellent idea,” Fingon said.  He mused on this and said, “There are places in town that do not require appointments.  Maybe I can even find someone to give me a proper manicure. My nails are shit right now,” he realized as he looked them over.

“Uhm…” Only now did Glorfindel discern that Fingon was quite serious. “Alright. I have never done such as this, should I change my clothing?”

“Um…”  Fingon sidestepped around to reach Erestor and whispered something conspiratorially to him.  Erestor smiled and nodded. “Just something casual. I thought we would walk there, so something comfortable, casual… just to spend the afternoon in town.”

“Alright, I will change.” Glorfindel abandoned the cleaning, for there were more than enough people seeing to that, and went upstairs to choose something attractive but not overstated.  he selected beige leggings and boots with a tunic in assorted shades of blue and green that complimented his eyes. He ran the comb through his hair a few times and, more or less satisfied with what he saw in the looking-glass, returned downstairs to Fingon.

Fingon was still combing out his hair when Glorfindel returned to the first floor.  He was sitting on the sofa with a large segment of hair draped over his arm to keep it from tangling back with the rest.  “I hate to ask this of you, but could you possibly choose something for me to wear, too? I really thought I could do this faster than I--dammit,” Fingon cursed as his comb got stuck and he lost grip on it.  He flailed an arm around behind his back until he retained his hold.

“Gladly, but why do you not ask Gildor for help with that? Sweetheart, I think even Asfaloth might have an easier time of it, and they both love combing and brushing hair. I will return shortly,” Glorfindel announced, smiling broadly at Gildor.

“I offered,” stated Gildor at the same time Fingon scowled and said, “I can handle it myself.”

Glorfindel paused in his steps and returned to Fingon, sitting on his lap and knowing perfectly well that it would utterly interfere with the project at hand. Very gently, Glorfindel’s lips ghosted over Fingon’s, before Glorfindel’s extremely cute nose began to nuzzle at his cheek.  _ Sweetheart, I know you can handle it. So does Gildor. But he wants to help you, and you are not having an easy time of it. We are family here, and I do not mean a group of bickering siblings. The choice remains yours, but I would like it if you would at least consider that small courtesies help us form bonds of closeness with others. Also, consider what Gildor told us earlier. I know him better than you, and for all his bravado that was a terrible thing for him to remember. He knows what would have happened to him had help not come.  _ With one more gentle kiss, Glorfindel rose and returned to the stairs, not looking at either Fingon or Gildor.

Fingon huffed a few more times as he struggled mightily before he gave a defeated sigh and held the comb out to Gildor, who bounced over and proceeded to detangle the rest of the massive amount of hair that trailed behind Fingon.  Suddenly Maedhros was there as well and worked to rebraid what Gildor tamed, using a slow and steady single handed technique he had mastered. Fingon sat silently, staring at the floor.

Returning with a striking grey tunic embroidered with silver threads and darker blue leggings, Glorfindel smiled at what he saw.  _ This fills my heart, love. It is why I would do anything for you. We may need a few moments to dishevel each other once we leave the house. And then you can find some solution to my beard. _

Fingon only smirked as he heard the words in his head.  It was Gildor who spoke, saying, “I envy your patience, Fingon.  I have no idea how you manage this on a daily basis.”

“By keeping it braided as long as I possibly can,” answered Fingon.  “Unfortunately, that means it starts itching after a few days, especially when I am working out a lot.”

“It is very beautiful,” Glorfindel said fondly. “With his eyes, everything. I know everyone always wishes for what they do not have, but I will never be so striking as Káno. Though Maedhros may win that contest altogether. While I have never wanted for red hair for myself, I have always thought yours astonishingly attractive. As if your hair were forged of heated copper that can move or change in the light.” He now eyed Gildor. “And you--I never even tried to keep up with you. Like strands of silk, your hair always is, no matter what you do to it.”

“Oh, stop.  What a flirt!  Here; your husband is ready for you,” declared Gildor as he helped Maedhros finish the last of the braids.  He pushed on Fingon’s back to coax him to stand up. “Have a good time!” he wished them. “I believe I have a date with a scythe.”

Maedhros gave the top of Fingon’s head a pat, and touched Glorfindel’s shoulder before he left the room.  “Thank you for the compliment,” he said quietly. “I have a hard time feeling attractive by any means. Every little bit helps.”  He followed after Gildor, leaving Glorfindel and Fingon alone.

“He is teasing me, right?” Glorfindel asked quietly as he watched the tall redhead leave the house. “Because if not, that is...tragic. I mean, I personally have no wish to fuck him but...he is beautiful. Very beautiful.”

“His entire existence is a tragedy,” answered Fingon back, as he stripped in the middle of the room and pulled on his fresh clothing.  “Sadly, I did not do much for a while to ease that for him.”

“We have a walk to town. I detect a story that I have not heard in full. I would appreciate being told an overview as you believe it to be true,” Glorfindel said, adjusting the fit of Fingon’s tunic and smoothing a line in the fabric here and there before he was satisfied. Weaving his arm into Fingon’s before stretching up to the points of his toes, he kissed his husband. “Please lead on.”

They went out the front door and traveled down the path, taking the wide road that would lead them into town.  Fingon recounted the many obstacles that Maedhros contended with, from having to hold his own against a household of six brothers, to an overbearing father who would be forever linked to Maedhros for better or worse, to the challenges of learning to use one hand in a world where combat was frequent and there was little tolerance for weakness, perceived or otherwise.

“I want him to understand he  _ is _ beautiful,” Glorfindel announced with finality. “I can think of many means by which to emphasize that without blowing smoke up his ass. It is not right that he hurt so much. I know not every wound can be healed with the wave of a hand, but the ones like this should not be out of reach.”

“I think it will take more than what others can do for him.  I think he really has to believe it. He and I used to host some of the most splendid secret parties.  He would probably throttle me to tell you, but you know how I like to pretty myself up--fancy hair, glossed lips, smokey eyes, painted nails--he showed me up every time.  Glorious red-gold creature, like a sensuous lion. And then, somehow it got back to his brothers, and one of them--I think it was Curufin--made a joke about it. It was something that questioned his manhood, and all of them, including Maglor, laughed at him.  And he was different after that. And if he came to the parties, it was only to be there for me, in the shadows, dark and brooding about it. When I suggested he join me, or heaven forbid, the one time I playfully brushed rogue on his cheek--he hit me. He backhanded me, and he had never done that to me before, and after that I stopped even asking him to come with me.  Things were different. I cannot dwell on what-ifs, but if I ever have the chance, I have a lot of things to say to his family.”

“I think I do, too,” Glorfindel murmured. “I mean, fuck. If you want to point fingers, look what Fëanor did to Ress--that could have been handled so much differently. My father and me. And do not try to aid their cause with ‘First Age this’ and ‘things were different then that.’ Because you know what? I have one word for all of it: Finrod. If Finrod could know in his heart how to treat a homosexual son like a human being and love him as a person--all of him--then everything else is just mean-spirited abuse.” The speech poured out forcefully, and at the end Glorfindel was wiping away a few tears of rage before he stopped himself. “I am sorry,” he hung his head. “I know better than to make it all out to be anything so simple. But...why did we all have to suffer so much? For what? What did it actually accomplish?” Another sniffle followed, but Glorfindel was determined not to break down or make a scene. This was supposed to be a nice outing.

Fingon paused and drew Glorfindel into his arms.  They were still a little ways from the outskirts, but close enough to see people on the paths ahead, coming and going from the busy happenings on the weekend in the tourist port.  “Maybe so that we could all come together like this in the end? I wish I had a better answer. We will have a nice time. I promise.”

“I believe you,” Glorfindel said, returning the offered affection. “It...was a good answer, Káno. I still have trouble sometimes and...thank you. For listening.”

A kiss was brushed against Glorfindel’s forehead.  “Anytime. I have an idea… how open do you think Elrond and Celebrían would be to an impromptu party tonight?”

“They are both inclined to being social. Though, they probably would enjoy something that did not involve injuries to tend or other forms of, uh, escapades.” There really was no polite way to mention that someone needed to monitor Gildor. Carefully. “Why, what do you have in mind?”

“I wonder, if we came back and threw a party like the ones that Maedhros and I used to host, would that cause him to be inclined to join in like he used to?  He has a certain level of comfort around Elrond, and of course Gildor helps, too. Nothing too extravagant--just fun. We can pick up some fireworks, bring some sweets home with us, dress up when we get home and encourage the others to do the same--we could even try to tell Erestor ahead of time so that he can covertly get things ready and enlist the others.  Plus, I know how much Erestor is not fond of surprises, so that would help so that we are not springing it on him when we get in,” suggested Fingon.

“I like it,” Glorfindel mused. “And...this is only a hunch on my part. I think Mae might let me paint him. Especially if you could successfully pretend we never had this conversation, but...you remember the time at Thranduil’s, for you have spoken of it...I do know that Erestor likes to be painted, though we should not let it spiral entirely out of control with regard to decorum. Maybe we all could be animals. If I could get away with it, I would make him a lion once again. And you...hm. Oh yes.” A winning smile of pure innocence looked up at his lover. “I still have body paints, though if we could purchase fresher materials it would go easier.”

“I already like your idea better than the one I was formulating,” said Fingon.  “I can tell you want to leave your ideas for me a secret, but what of you?”

“What would please the king?” Glorfindel asked provocatively.

Fingon nuzzled the top of Glorfindel’s head.  “To have you speak your mind,” he insisted.

“Not fair,” Glorfindel pouted, “though I suppose I cannot have it all my way. For Erestor I had thought about a butterfly, if Gildor would help me by loaning a few of his scarves. I have some easily formed cane out in my workshop for wings. Are we inviting others to our home?” 

“I thought just the family and guests who are already there,” said Fingon.  “Now, if you want to use scarves, you realize I am the keeper of many a scarf, and you are welcome to as many as you need for him.  But now I can tell you are deviating from the answer, and so… a compromise. You can do as you wish for me, and I get to pick your animal, and we paint each other and it can be a surprise to us both, and we help each other with Erestor.”

“Guilty,” Glorfindel laughed. “Yes. You have been very fair. I will leave you in charge of any extra colors. I had it in mind to have black, brown, yellow, red, blue and white. All the rest I ought to be able to mix from those.”

“Well, now, we have our theme, so we will need to think of the food and decor.  Simple, of course, we will not have much time to prepare it all,” reasoned Fingon as he linked his arm with Glorfindel and began them on their journey again.  “I must tell you; I shared with Erestor that I intended to keep you out late and take you to see a show and have supper, but now I wonder if we might use some of that time to gather supplies and get home early, and plan a day together here for the future.”

“Anything you wish,” smiled Glorfindel affably. “Consider me at your disposal. If I might make a suggestion, everyone likes cheese. We have a huge amount of basil in the garden, tomatoes too. Simple flatbreads that we can bake quickly, with vegetables and melted cheeses. We still have strawberries. I could make a shortcake. Those with salads and the other vegetables, surely that is plenty?”

“Perfect.  That was much quicker than I expected.  I would still like to stop and pick up some chocolates or something as a special treat.  First, though, we must find a tonsor before the service shops close their doors for the day.”  They were beginning to reach the busier section, and Fingon said, “There is a particular place beyond the school that I thought we might try.  I passed by the other day.”

Glorfindel nodded, trying to keep close to Fingon in the press of people. Uncaring of the opinions of others, he kept his hand wrapped around his husband’s forearm and deftly threaded his way through. “They know what they are doing, right?” Even though the question was ridiculous, he still wanted the reassurance. Fingon, after all, clearly had few inhibitions about what was done to him with sharp objects.

“Uh… I… think so?  I mean, this is their profession, and they would not be in business long if they did not,” reasoned Fingon.  “You have to remember--I have only ever taken care of this mess myself,” said Fingon as he waved his free hand at his face.  “Remember? You taught me,” he said fondly. They walked a few more paces before he asked, “Would you rather we sneak into the school and use the sink and mirror in one of the water closets?  I keep a razor in my office in case I head in early without shaving and then realize I need to be presentable for a meeting.”

The blue-green eyes blinked at Fingon with a mein utterly devoid of enthusiasm. “Erm….”

Fingon chuckled.  “Alright, well, seemed romantic to me.  Sneaking into a building after hours and doing something that would probably result in more than just a shave.  Clearly I need to work on my presentation. Honestly, though, I am positive that a trained professional will do a fine job.”  He leaned down to kiss Glorfindel’s cheek. “I can go first, if you want.”

“You did not say it  _ that  _ way,” Glorfindel whined, now realizing what he might have missed out on. A heavy sigh escaped him. “Not fair.”

“Next time, then, because I just realized I do not have my keys with me, and actual breaking and entering is frowned upon in society,” Fingon said.  “I like being pampered. Probably a royalty thing. Having someone else take care of basic needs might seem lazy, but I guess I have the opinion that if someone goes into the profession, they actually enjoy what they are doing.  At least, I hope they are. I know, this contradicts the hair thing earlier, but I get frustrated when I cannot do things for myself sometimes.” Fingon now chose a side of the street for them to walk, for they were on the main road, and horses and carriages were kept in the center while people traversed the narrower bricked walkways on either side.  “I have another reason for coming into town,” he now revealed.

“Which is?”Glorfindel had moved to walking behind Fingon, out of courtesy to other pedestrians, so he made a game out of closely melding himself against his husband’s steps.

“There is a reason I want to go to a specific place,” Fingon said.  “They had a sign up in the window last week, and I have been thinking about it for a while now.  Sorry; I am talking in half-thoughts,” he said. “The tonsor near the docks had a sign in the window that they buy hair for wigs.  Well, I have a lot of hair, and I am finding it to be a nuisance. When I got taller, my hair got longer. When I got taller again, the same thing happened, and it grows longer than I am tall.  Over seven fucking feet of hair, Glorfindel. I know you and Erestor and half of all creation are impressed by the massiveness of this whole thing, but after a while, as you saw today, it is a lot.  I liked it when I could get up and bathe and actually wash my hair without it being something I had to plan out. I am not going to chop it all off like the last time, but I need to do something. If I am going to do it anyhow… might as well make money from it?”  He studied Glorfindel as he awaited the reply.

“How much do you think you will leave?” Glorfindel asked, though he was quick to reassure. “I can see in your eyes that you are looking for my permission--you need none, love. But if you are asking my preference, I would like it if it still fell to a little past your shoulders. It is only that, though--a preference. If you want it shorter I fully support you. It is only that...you are very beautiful, to me, and I do like your braids. I also know they will grow back, though. So I mean it, this is up to you.”

“Allow me to assuage your fears.  I eventually want it to be waist-length, except I know that in a month or two it will grow longer and it will just be frustrating again.  I need it past my shoulders, because you probably know by now that there are days when I feel more masculine, and then there are days I just want to curl my hair, put on a skirt, and… be something else,” he settled on.  “I wish at times it was not so thick and prone to expansion in humidity,” he said, attempting to make a joke of it. “You remember how it was when it was short but not really short--it just looked like a frightful mess, to me at least.  I could not pull it back, I could not braid it, and yes, I could make it really short again, but then, what, keep it like that forever? No, that is not me,” he said.

“Then I am glad,” Glorfindel told him when they had reached a quieter place. “For knotting my hands into your hair when we make love is one of my favorite things.”

Fingon looked over his shoulder, and then pulled Glorfindel down one of the less trodden alleyways and around to the back of a building.  There was light enough in the sky, but the height and closeness of the structures put all in shadow, and it was darker here. “I love that,” agreed Fingon, and he took hold of the back of Glorfindel’s hands and moved them to encourage his fingers to slide between the braids.  “The feel of your fingers on my scalp, running through my hair… and pulling… hard,” he growled into Glorfindel’s ear in a low voice. “And then… we have… this...these.” Fingon drew a hand behind himself and pulled up several dozen braids draped over his arm. “I sit on them, I trip on them, I tangle my feet in them.  I have to pin them up to dance, and I cannot get them to stay in place when I use the trampoline, so that is why I had to stop that. I had a dream one night that a snake was suffocating me. It was these, wrapped around my neck. If I had a more sedentary lifestyle, I might consider keeping them like this.” He let go and they swung down again, just above the ground.  “My hair would drag if not braided. I would love to be able to wash it regularly and condition it so that it is soft and let it be loose, and I just cannot as it is.”

“Then let us do something about it,” Glorfindel agreed huskily, somewhat determined not to fall prey to lust in an alleyway. Hopefully. But he did nip Fingon on the lip, after bestowing a proper kiss. “There is more where that came from later, if you are a good boy.”

“Mmm… I can be a very good boy,” declared Fingon.  He kissed Glorfindel back before he wrapped an arm around his waist and walked with him back onto the walkway.  “I see the school up ahead, so we are not that far away now. If we are lucky, we might just have time for some extra pampering.  I really cannot recall when I last had some take care of my nails for me,” he bemoaned as he looked at his free hand, displaying it before them.

“I did not know you liked it,” Glorfindel said, feeling a little guilty. “I would have gladly done this for you. Erestor has all the tools, you know. Back when we paid meaningful attention to personal grooming we would sometimes spend evenings working on each other. It was very nice.”

“I try not to be too much of a spoiled little prince,” said Fingon.  “And then, there are times…” He pointed at a shop across the street.  “That is the confectionary I was thinking of earlier. We should stop there, and figure out where we might find paint.  I am not going to lie, edible paint might be nice, but then I worry about Gildor… and him going around licking everyone…”

“Fair point,” Glorfindel frowned. “Wait. there is another option. It is not as good for truly intricate work but there are food dyes? I can paint them on much like the other and...well, you remember the marzipan, they are very pretty colors. And then Gildor cannot overeat them. Er, at least I think that is what we are worried about.”

“Um… no.  Not really.  I am worried about him walking up to Elrond and licking his face,” said Fingon.  “To find out what flavor he is, whether it has flavor or not. So, while it would not benefit me and my desires, maybe non-edible is best so that Gildor does not… Gildor.”

“Well he can be given limits,” Glorfindel frowned. “At least a long time ago he was able to follow directions.”

Fingon simply stared at Glorfindel.

“Alright he  _ usually  _ was able to follow directions,” Glorfindel admitted. “Inedible paint it is.”

There was a break from the buildings, with the stables and pastures stretching out before they came to the last stretch of shops.  “Right up ahead,” Fingon noted. “It looks a lot smaller than I recall it being when I saw it the first time.”

“Strange, how that often is the case,” commented the blond, taking in the sights. The little edifice seemed...quaint. A part of the casserole that made up life on this island. “I think it is cute.”

“I see that the sign is still up, so that bodes well for my plan.  Even if it was not there, I am pretty determined to find someone in town to cut it for me.”  Fingon reached out for the handle of the door when they made it to the little establishment. 

A bell above the door rang in greeting, and an ellon sitting on a chair in the back with his feet propped up on another chair opened his eyes.  “Customers!” He rapped his knuckles on the wall, and a door opened a few seconds later. The first man appeared to be the assistant, for he began to busy himself with brushing unseen dust from the three high wooden chairs that lined one side of the main room, while the second who appeared from the back room approached and inclined his head toward Fingon and Glorfindel.  “What can we do for you gentlemen this afternoon?”

“We could both use a shave, if you do that sort of thing here,” said Fingon, not meaning to sound so uncertain.

“Of course!” 

“And…”  Fingon looked at the window, and separated himself from Glorfindel so that he could retrieve the sign.  He held it up and said, “I wanted to ask about this.”

“Yes, however, we are not in the market for silver or blond,” said the tonsor.

“Perfect.  Because I have never been blond or silver in my life, no matter how much I willed it when I was younger,” said Fingon.

The tonsor walked around Fingon, appraising him.  He politely took the sign back to place in the window once more.  “This is your natural color?” Fingon nodded. “You never dyed it?”  Fingon shook his head. “Hmm…”

“Is it not spectacular?” Glorfindel asserted, having heard Gildor sell his paintings one too many times. “Kept carefully, always braided to protect it from the elements. I have lived for a long time on this island and never seen the like.”

“I can see that it is well cared for, and the length is phenomenal.  My fear is that I will not have enough in my safe to pay you the full amount, and that the keeper of the vault will have left for the day,” explained the tonsor.  “Although, I suppose it depends upon what you are willing to sell. I need at least two feet for what my customers are looking for, but the longer the better.” He snapped his fingers twice, and his assistant brought forth a measuring tape, which he stooped down to hold at the floor where Fingon’s hair ended.  The tonsor drew it up and held it at the minimum mark. “So that is, as I said, the least amount I can use, but here,” he said, as he brought it up to Fingon’s back, “I would more than double the price, and here,” he said, extending between Fingon’s shoulder blades, “I would triple the amount.”

Fingon looked at Glorfindel for guidance.  “Thoughts?”

_ Two: Is he trustworthy to make good on what is owed? And, are you willing to part with more hair to have higher payment? I lied. Three. Also ask what this ‘amount’ is before any words of agreement are spoken. In fact, I shall care for that myself.  _ Glorfindel made a great show of being unconvinced, pacing back and forth behind Fingon. “We really must know what amount is under discussion,” Glorfindel told the tonsor. “For all his seeming even-temperament, it took a goodly bit of persuasion even to get him to agree to come here. He knows he is under no obligation to part with his tresses.”

“Oh, of course!”  A clap of the tonsor’s hands sent the assistant scrambling to the door to the back, only to return with a small leather book.  The tonsor opened it to about the middle. “Going rate this week is eleven per foot for blond, eight for silver, nineteen for light and medium brown, and forty-two for dark brown, which is where you most certainly fall.”

“What about red hair?” asked Fingon curiously.

The tonsor shut his book and laughed.  “No one with red hair ever sells it. You would have an easier time buying a unicorn than you would buying a natural red wig.”  He opened the book again, snapped his fingers, and the assistant handed him a quill. “So… four feet, 168 at going rate, doubled would be… carry the six… 336.  Five feet, 210, but at triple… 630.”

“630 what?” prodded Fingon.  “Copper? Silver?”

The tonsor lifted a brow.  “First time doing this, I imagine.”  He cleared his throat and looked at his assistant.

“Six hundred and thirty gold,” the assistant said.  “That is why we would need to go to the keeper of the vault.  Well, I would go. That is my duty and pleasure,” he added.

“Would it matter if the hair came from a famous person?” Glorfindel asked, uncertain why that had escaped his mouth, unless it be that Gildor was ruining him.

“Yes,” the tonsor answered slowly. “Though, I will be honest, that would depend on the popularity of the person in question. The Lady Artanis, for example--the hair of that elleth would be nearly priceless. Even that of Fëanáro would be worth a great deal--notoriety counts for something. Musicians, actors...it really depends.”

“And what if it were Findekáno in question, once High King of the Noldor?” Glorfindel asked calmly, while Fingon stood frozen.

The assistant whistled low.  “We would definitely need to go find the vaultkeeper for that.”

“Are you able to prove that?” asked the tonsor.

“He is standing right in front of you, so I would answer in the affirmative,” Glorfindel answered. “I am Glorfindel, somewhat known in these parts. What proof do you require?”

“Some sort of evidence.  You must forgive me, but my clients would want to know with certainty the claims I am making.  You can imagine that someone might take advantage of such a thing if they could.” The tonsor rubbed his chin.  “There must be something…”

“Káno, before this goes any further, I should ask if your willingness to pursue this indeed exists. We should not otherwise proceed,” Glorfindel asked.   _ At the house I believe there is correspondence from both your father and grandfather. Your handwriting in a letter is also verifiable, as is your signature. There are also your athletic abilities, if you choose this. _

Fingon listened to everyone around him and wrung his hands as he did so.  “What would you do, though? Would you tell all of your clients, and let them bid among themselves?” asked Fingon.

“I would display it prominently in the window, and place an announcement in the--”

Fingon held up a hand before more could be said and shook his head at Glorfindel.  “I cannot handle a public display. I am sick just thinking about that. People would come to the library asking me about it, and my family would demand to know what was going on, and if I was… excuse me, I need some air,” he said, and he gently pushed past Glorfindel to reach the door, and headed outside.

As the bell rang and the door closed, the tonsor bowed his head.  “Forgive me, your lordship. I believe you. I must take caution, but I can tell now that is not the reaction of a ruffian attempting to make extra coin.  I think I can arrange something else, if he is still of a mind for it. I could contact a few of my most prominent clients and assure them that what I am selling is authentically from someone of the House of Finwe.  That, I believe, would more than interest them, if you think that would be acceptable to your companion.”

“May I inquire, whether you would be willing to come by invitation on another occasion to complete these negotiations and collect the hair if he decides on it? I believe that in the end he will be willing to proceed; this is just overwhelming to him,” Glorfindel offered. “That and your assurance of a discreet sale would perhaps please all parties involved. I know he would be willing to certify in writing that the hair was his; he is honest and upright in the extreme. I believe it would be worth the deferral of some coin in order to compensate you for the added inconvenience, and yet I cannot seriously imagine that just anyone could afford the purchase from your establishment?”

“We have very elite clientele,” explained the tonsor.  “We operate close to the docks so that they can come to examine the merchandise and return on the same boat if they wish.  It makes deliveries easy as well. As for his decision, we have been here for many years, and will be here for many more. I cannot say week to week what the market will be, but it is not often that there is not some need or want for dark hair.”

Glorfindel nodded. “I know at the very least, we both would like to receive a proper shave. If you will pardon me for just a moment, I will see how my husband is doing and return momentarily.” Stepping outside, he looked about for Fingon. When he found him, the first thing he spoke was an apology. “I should not have said that. It was impulsive of me and wrong. I am sorry, Káno. He is sorry, too. Nothing will be other than how you wish it.”

Fingon, who had been sitting on the fence of the stable, hopped down and wrapped his arms around Glorfindel.  “It is a good idea,” he praised. “You have very good negotiating skills. I think if it was not such a spectacle, I might have gone with it.  I can only imagine my grandmother finding out and the letters I would receive--or worse, she would show up here demanding to see our finances, thinking I was doing this for that.  Of course, then I could yell at her for draining my savings on a clinic I do not need or want.” Fingon sighed. “It is not your fault, sweetheart. Are they still open? I honestly feel fairly certain that he would make good on his promise of payment.  That place looks like it has been there a long while. Just the amount he offered initially was far more than I expected.”

“Yes. He agreed to come to the house, if it pleased you. I suggested that if you went through with it, you would be willing to certify it in your own writing. He says he can sell it privately, without making a spectacle.” Glorfindel pursed his lips. “Listen to me, talking out of both sides of my mouth.” He hung his head. “There is more, Fingon, if I am to be honest. I wish you could be home. This day with you was...I feel greedy for more. I feel like some kind of change is in the wind for all of us. That kind of money could take a great deal of pressure off of everyone--but then I feel filthy, like I am literally trying to sell off a part of you for gain. I--did not mean for this to become so complicated.”

“Home?  No…” Fingon shook his head.  “Then I have everyone around… I was going to come out here alone and do this.  I came with you because… well, I want you here. Erestor would have been fine, too, but… speaking of greedy and complicated, I wanted you with me more.  If he can still do it now, then let us go back. You should not feel greedy; the sign in the window put the thought in my head last week. If I was going to do it eventually anyhow, why not make a little money from it?  Or, in this case, a lot of money.”

“I just want you to be positive,” Glorfindel said, holding him tightly. “I know what it is like to be pressured into things I would rather not do. It is awful, and I never want that to be something I do to you. Or to us.”

For another few minutes, they held onto each other, oblivious to both those smiling at them as they passed and those who bowed their heads and scowled.  “I mean to keep my promise to Gildor. Shall we go back?”

“Yes,” agreed Glorfindel. “I...there is something else I want to say. This is the first time I have ever publicly declared you to be my husband. I am humbled at what a privilege has been given me. Thank you, for loving me.”

“It must be a night for public displays, because this is the first time I have very, very openly shown affection in a public place in this lifetime.”  Fingon kissed Glorfindel full on the lips. “It is my pleasure to call you husband,” he said, “and to not give a damn who hears me say that.”

A beautiful smile graced Glorfindel’s face, and they returned to the tonsor’s. Glorfindel indicated that Fingon should speak, if he wished to pursue this. “I just want a shave,” Glorfindel grinned, shrugging his shoulders.

“Technically, I want a haircut, a shave, a manicure, and maybe something for my face, but I can settle for the first two,” said Fingon.

Only the tonsor was there, and he explained, “I asked my assistant to see if the vaultkeeper was available, in case of your return.  Before we discuss the business aspect again, may I ask, since your motives are not exactly financially driven, what purpose you have for cutting your hair?”

“Uhm… I have so much it has its own mailing code,” replied Fingon, and the tonsor smirked.  “I like hair. I like a lot of of hair. This is too much.”

The tonsor circled around Fingon as he had before, but now he was peering up.  “You mentioned keeping it braided most of the time. Do you find you suffer from headaches frequently?”

Fingon gave Glorfindel a surprised look.  “Yes,” he answered cautiously. “Not constantly, but, a lot.”

“You also appear to braid it tightly.  Do you keep it like that when you sleep?” he asked.

“All the time,” Fingon answered with additional caution.  “I do it as soon as I finish washing it to keep it from tangling.  Why?”

“You are not doing yourself any favors,” explained the tonsor.  He reached up and pressed his fingers against Fingon’s scalp, and Fingon cringed a little.  “Less braids, loose, dry hair only. What kind of pillowcases do you have?”

“Um… fabric?” answered Fingon with a shrug.

“You need silk or satin.  You should wear a nightcap, too,” advised the tonsor.  “The skin on our heads is thin. All of that hair is pulling on it, and yours, braided as it is, is causing a lot of stress on your scalp.  You have very thick hair. Is it the length or the thickness that is bothering you?”

“Ahm… maybe both?”

The tonsor stood back and rubbed the fingers of one hand over his mouth thoughtfully, his elbow resting in the opposite hand.  “I know what I would do. I would sculpt it, different lengths--what are your thoughts on bangs?” he asked.

“Like...children have?”

“Or, people with extremely thick and unruly amounts of hair.”

“Point taken.”  Fingon turned to Glorfindel again for guidance.

“If you propose to do something new...none of us have your skills,” the blond frowned. “It is important for him to be able to appear well-groomed and dignified. We must know how to care for it, so that it can be managed and have a pleasing appearance. Can you explain that to us before his braids are shorn?”

“How do you care for it now?” the ellon asked, directing his gaze to Fingon.

“I braid it, comb it, wash it, try not to sit on it or trip over it,” said Fingon.  “I probably only wash it once a week, which I hate, because it feels oily most of the time.”

“What do you use for a conditioner? Do you apply hot oil treatments? With what do you wash it?” fired back more questions.

Fingon chewed his bottom lip.  “I did not study for this test, and I am going to fail it,” he said decidedly.  “I have a lot of hair, so I use whatever I find that is least expensive because I need a lot of it.  I used to pamper myself with a variety of things, and I have a feeling hot oil and other such concoctions were on that list, but it has been a good deal of time since all that.”  Fingon snorted. “Maybe you do not want this hair after all.”

“There is no failure, your Lordship,” the tonsor said firmly. “And I very much do want it. It is not damaged, but you have been struggling. Now. My assistant will shave the Lord Glorfindel, and I personally will tend to you. I will explain how to inexpensively care for your hair and scalp in a manner that will give better results. Perchance do you have any access to eggs?”

When he saw affirmative nods, he smiled. “Then if you are willing to make or maintain a supply of vinegar, bicarbonate of soda, castor oil and spare a few eggs, you will have all you need for hair that I know will respond favorably. My only question to you, Lord, is where I am to cut your hair; once you tell me this I can name the price I offer for its purchase--and then we can discuss the manner of styling for the remainder.”

Fingon walked over to one of the chairs, pulled his braids back, and then sat down.  “I want it past my shoulders, but I do not want it so long that I have to do that anymore when I want to sit.  I do not want to step on it, sit on it, or fear it will be caught in a door. Your previous estimates seemed fair; I am more inclined to say that you should take what you must to do what you have in mind.”

The tonsor and his assistant, now returned with a large sack he placed on the counter before locking the door and closing the shades so that there would be no interruptions, spoke quietly to the side.  They nodded to one another, and the tonsor came back to where Fingon sat. “If I cut here,” he said as he placed his hand below Fingon’s shoulder blades, “an even eleven hundred.”

“I would be an idiot to say no to that,” Fingon replied.

“When I finish with your hair, it may be shorter, but not by much.  It will retain length, but in layers. It will be more manageable, and overall, I think it will be easier for you to care for.  Braiding would not be advisable because the hair will stick out of them, so if that is something you are particular about, then I can just cut straight across and be done.”  The tonsor ended up in front of Fingon again.

“I am feeling adventurous,” said Fingon, and he and the tonsor shook hands.

“The shaves are complementary,” said the tonsor as he began to remove his tools from a drawer.  “As is the styling, of course.”

“Thank you,” Glorfindel told him, still unable to believe the sum of gold being offered and feeling vaguely giddy. The assistant directed him into a seat, where his hair was carefully brought back out of the way and a clean drape placed around the front of him. A soothing, slick material was rubbed into the skin of his cheeks and neck. A groan was stifled, for the skilled hands of the assistant found muscles he had not even known were tender, massaging them gently with perfect pressure until he felt deeply relaxed in the chair. For this alone the visit was worth it, though he wished it were Fingon’s hands on him. The blue-green eyes flew open wide and he had to resist a minor panic when a very warm towel was brought and his face--except for his nose--was swaddled in it. Reaching out to Fingon, he quickly received reassurance that this was a normal part of the procedure. Now Glorfindel felt glad of the towel, for it hid his blush--former Lord of Gondolin or not, he was apparently quite rustic and unsophisticated. Then the towel was held firmly against his skin; the pressure of the assistant’s hands focused especially over the area of his beard. After perhaps a minute, the tonsor’s assistant removed the towel. The small clinking noises he had heard were the lather being prepared. This now was brushed on, great care being taken to work it well into the hairs of his beard.

_ Are you alright, sweetheart?  _ Glorfindel heard from Fingon.

_ Yes,  _ came the mental voice, carrying a note of excitement.  _ This is really wonderful, Káno. I like this. A lot. It feels so…  _ He groped around for the right word.

_ Manly? _ Fingon teased. 

_ Yes,  _ Glorfindel concluded happily--which was saying a great deal for someone who had just had the best vaginal sex of his life earlier in the day.

Fingon raised an eyebrow at the stray thought but wisely did not reply.

Now the straight razor was used, small areas at a time, with the blade wiped scrupulously clean and dipped in hot water every few moments. Glorfindel marveled that he could not even feel it, unlike his usual manner of shaving--which come to think on it, reminded him more of scything than anything else. Perhaps he needed to rethink the manner of his personal grooming altogether. Soon, all was done. A soothing balm was applied that had a pleasing masculine scent with notes of citrus, and the protective drape removed. Unable to resist, his fingers flew to his face in curiosity. “This is amazing,” he said in surprise and pleasure. “I have not felt skin like this since before I entered the third cycle. Thank you,” he said to the assistant, who seemed momentarily nonplussed.

Fingon smiled at the sight, his own shave also completed. Glorfindel had no awareness of his own beauty.  “You know, Glorfindel,” said Fingon as he tried to remain as still as possible, for the tonsor had already begun the tedious task of tying short pieces of ribbon around each braid where he intended to cut them to ensure they would not unravel, “this is very close to where Erestor and I work.  You could come visit us on occasion and we could stop here after work.”

“Shall I help?” asked the assistant after he had cleaned up his workstation, and the tonsor held out a handful of pre-cut ribbon to him.  After directions on where to secure them based on where the hair was rooted, the assistant took up the role of host. “You mentioned that you live and work here on the island.  Are you nearby?”

“Mar Vanwa Tyaliéva,” replied Fingon.  

“Oh, my!  I thought that place was destroyed,” said the tonsor.  “It was slated to be demolished years ago.”

“Our… husband managed to salvage it,” Fingon said, slightly hesitant about the words.  He looked to Glorfindel, and wondered if they would suddenly be thrown out of the establishment.

“I remember that place when it was an inn, and open from dawn until dusk and all the hours in between.  I even worked there when I was younger--I met my first wife there, and our son, Lilrulanon, was born there.”

“Hello!” The assistant waved one hand at them, and now as Glofindel gave a closer look, he could see the resemblance between the tonsor and his younger assistant.

Glorfindel grinned.  “You were born there?”

Lilrulanon nodded.  “I lived there until I was eight or nine and my father had enough money saved to open his own shop.  This is our third, each one bigger than the last.”

“We will likely stay here now,” the tonsor said.  “Lilrulanon’s mother runs the adjoining shop next door, where she takes care of the beautification of ladies--not that any lady is not already beautiful when they walk in,” he said firmly.  “She sells cosmetics and other supplies for at-home use, and my other two wives and daughters make most of what she sells.”

Fingon blinked.  “You have multiple wives.”

“Beg pardon, your lordship, but if I understand correctly, you have multiple husbands.”

“Indeed.  My apologies; I did not mean to sound at all judgemental or rude; we are all a rare breed as it were, and you are honestly the first person on this island I have met who has been open about that,” said Fingon.

“You are the first person I have encountered who was equally open.”  The tonsor walked to a drawer to retrieve additional ribbons. “It is a problem, is it not?  Feeling as if you must only spend time with one spouse in a certain circle of friends and colleagues, so that it suits them and not you?”

Fingon licked his lips but did not offer his feelings on this.  His expression was quite clear that he had done such a thing in the past.  “How many children do you have?” he asked instead.

“My second wife and I have two daughters, both grown.  I met her when I was still employed at the cottage. She was a serving girl there.  My first wife is very proper and reserved; very finely tuned to details. My second is more of a free spirit.  She was very good at playing hostess when needed there, and she and my wife, who at the time oversaw the planning of the grand events, became very good friends.  After a few dozen nights of sitting up until dawn in abandoned common rooms together, we began to retire to the same quarters together. No one said anything at first, and we did not know quite what to do in all honesty, but when the rumors of Falastawen being my mistress reached the ears of my son--”

“People are mean,” opined Lilrulanon.

“--I knew it was time to do something about it and to leave.  We were allowed to have a quiet, unofficial ceremony on the rooftop a few nights before we all left employment there.  The three of us were very secretive about our relationship.” The last of the ribbons were tied off, and the tonsor inspected his work carefully before he exchanged the few remaining ribbons in his hands for a pair of sharp scissors.  Lilrulanon was retrieving additional items--wooden trays with long compartments built into them and tags with strings attached, no doubt to label the hair as it was cut. “We managed well enough. And then Úrnissë came into our lives.”

“She was studying at the school to be an alchemist,” said Lilrulanon.  “She would come here in her free time, first under the guise of wanting to inspect the compounds we and my mother use, and attempting better mixtures, and wanting us to try them, but eventually she would just come here to be here.  We all thought she was interested in me, because she is a little younger than I am. It turned out she was enamored with my father.”

“For a little while, I tried to encourage her to spend time with people her own age.  I even arranged a few outings for her and my son,” explained the tonsor. His words were suddenly intermingled with the sound of the blades chewing through the thickness of the first braid, and the the click of metal handle coming together.  “I finally had a discussion with my wives, and we invited her to have dinner with us. I think they fell in love with her before I did. You see, while my first two wives were very good companions to one another, they were not lovers, but Úrnissë became a lover to us all.”

“This should be more information than I am comfortable with him sharing, but I am oddly at peace hearing of my father’s and mothers’ sexual exploits,” Lilrulanon said, though Fingon had a slight blush to his cheeks as he worked out the logistics of the family.

The tonsor was now making fast work of his task on account of the fine tools he used, and was already on his second tray.  “Úrnissë blessed me with one daughter very soon after we all pledged our love to one another and bonded, and a little more than a decade ago, we were overjoyed to welcome not one, but three children into the world.”

“Triplets,” murmured Glorfindel, and felt some sort of sympathy pain in his womb just considering the idea.

“All girls, thank Eru,” said the tonsor.

“He forgets sometimes that I can hear him when he says these things,” Lilrulanon whispered over his shoulder at Glorfindel.

“Your father loves you,” Glorfindel said quietly. “I can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. I am just glad to have met you and your family. Somehow the world feels a little less lonely now.”

“I know we are all doing business right now, but perhaps in the future you might want to join us for a meal,” suggested the tonsor, and there was a definite hopefulness to his voice.

“Perhaps you might want to see the cottage again some time,” suggested Fingon.

“I would really like that,” the tonsor smiled. “May I ask, Lord, how you prefer to be addressed? My name is Erulisu.”

“I answer to just about any variation of my name,” said Fingon.  “Fingon is easy enough, Findekano works, a lot of people call me Kano, some people call me Fin--except, that gets confusing because he is Fin,” said Fingon as he nudged a hand out from beneath the draped fabric and pointed at Glorfindel.  “Come to think of it, I do not really care what anyone uses because it is a pretentious name. It took me how many thousands of years to finally get here and say to someone ‘can you fix this hair mess I have going on?’.”

Erulisu smiled.  “It could also mean ‘valorous skill’,” he offered.

Fingon snorted.  “Sure it could,” he replied with a roll of his eyes.  “My siblings got the good names after my parents practiced on me.”

“Funny how the first child gets to be the practice child,” agreed Lilrulanon with a bit of a smirk.  “Of course, I more or less had three parents, so, let me tell you how great that was. First, if one of them said no, I still had two more attempts at getting yes.  Second, three times the love and spoiling.”

Glorfindel looked down, smiling only a little. “I just remembered that I should really go see the cheesemaker before it is too late in the day, Káno. Would you mind terribly if I took care of that? I will be back in just a few moments, I promise.” He did not really wait for an answer, but slipped outside as quickly as he could. Several deep breaths later, he made his way to his errand.

It turned out that most of the specialty food stores were closing soon, and that more time had passed than expected at the tonsor.  With the shades drawn, it had been difficult to tell the time. Glorfindel now raced from shop to shop, picking up cheese, bread, candy, a basket when he realized he was running out of space to hold things, and roasted and candied nuts sold on a corner on his way back.  When he returned to Erulisu’s shop, he found the door locked. It appeared very dim, and he knocked on the door. After a moment, Lilrulanon appeared with a broom in hand and let him in. “I guess that was more than a few moments,” Glorfindel joked.

“My father and your husband went to the vaultkeeper.  Once my father really saw the quality, he said he just did not feel right only offering what he initially did, because he will easily be able to make two wigs with all that was harvested.  I believe that your husband was going to stop next door once he finished, if you wanted to wait there.”

“Yes, please,” he told Lilrulanon, trying to make conversation. “I suppose you can see that we had no idea of the value of hair. I definitely did not know about red hair. I now feel like I live with a walking fortune, and I never would have guessed. But...if I may ask, why do people want to wear wigs? Do not most people simply have their hair colored if they wish to change it?”

“Actors, musicians, other performers… they are all customers here.  I can tell you more if you wish to come back in here while I clean up, and then I can take you next door.”  Lilrulanon pushed the door open a little further.

“Gladly.” Glorfindel followed the ellon back and prepared himself to listen.

Lilrulanon locked the door again and returned to the area where his father had been working.  The telltale signs of mounds of discarded dark hair were in little piles that Lilrulanon tended to.  “Most of the time, it is someone who only needs it for their profession, and they do not want to change their appearance permanently.  Sometimes, someone wants a disguise for some reason and they will buy them. There are also people who are just eccentric--different colors and lengths for different moods.  The Lady Galugil is much known for her changing appearances, though she is a performer as well, so it doubly makes sense. And then, there are…” Lilrulanon leaned on the broom for a moment.  “So, it is no secret that some people equate hair with attractiveness. Some people just want really, really long wigs for that purpose.”

A laugh escaped Glorfindel. “Yes. I paid a high price for being a little too stuck on long hair, so I do understand. Though, it is liberating to have it shorter as well. I can see then why his hair would be so sought-after. I imagine it takes a great deal of time and patience to make a wig, though? I know nothing about it. I am not sure I have even seen a wig in the sense of, having paid attention to its construction.”

Lilrulanon smiled, leaned his broom against the chair, and pushed the wig he was wearing back carefully over his head.  While he had appeared to have silver-blond hair, it was quite evident that his natural color was a warm strawberry blond and that his hair hung just past his ears when he pulled the thin fabric cap off that seemed to keep the hair down and from interfering with the fit of the wig.  He flipped the wig so that Glorfindel could see the inside. “The hairs are sewn individually by hand. Needle and hair, no machines. Machines make it look fake, and using glues just cause them to fall apart. Dark hair and red hair are much desired because lighter hair is easy to obtain.  A lot of Teleri like to keep their hair more manageable for sea life, and there are several Vanyarin groups who cover their hair, so whether long or short, some of them do not care, and it is an easy enough way to make some coin. Noldor are vain. Getting them to part with their hair is a challenge.  There are people who want to make the money, but when they come in here, they are so difficult to work with because they insist everything be measured exactly, and they barter and bicker. I get it, I do, but it gets tiring. When the two of you left earlier, my father was so sure you were not coming back.”

“Actually, so was I,” Glorfindel admitted. “He and I both cut our hair off before, though. It was quite a fiasco because neither of us knew what we were doing. We might have fared better with sheep shears. Alas.” Shrugging, he looked more carefully at the wig. “That is very good craftsmanship; I never would have guessed had you not shown me. And we are indeed on the vain side though…” he looked away. “I learned earlier that it is perhaps not so simple. Someone told me today that they do not consider themselves attractive--someone I feel is quite stunning. It made me realize that one person’s vanity is another person’s tenuous hold on their self-esteem. Truthfully, I am still trying to reflect on that.”

“For me, hair is different because of my trade.  I know that I have something rare, and I exploit that.  Red and brown are hard to obtain, and while lighter hair could be dyed, if it is naturally colored virgin hair, it commands the highest prices.  The longer, the better. Until last year, I had hair down to my knees, but I want to learn culinary skills, so I decided to sell it so that I could build up a fund for that.  I only wear the wig when I think this is going to bother other people. I had it very short when I first did it, and it made a lot of people upset to see me that way, so my father has me wear the sample wigs when I am working.  Your husband’s hair is ideal because it is thick and has beautiful highlights, and the length is very desirable. If he decides to grow it out to sell it, I am certain my father would purchase it again.”

“I am certain we will all keep that in mind. My other spouse has even lovelier hair. Darker yet, and almost impossibly glossy--but I do not believe he would be inclined to part with it. Still, one never knows. I wonder, though. I had not planned to cut my hair but I am very eager to see the style that has been chosen for Findekáno. Would you change anything about my hair, if that was an option?”

Lilrulanon shrugged and retrieved his broom.  “I never really learned that part of the trade.  That would be my father’s specialty.” He made quick work of the rest of the snippings on the floor and dumped them all neatly into a bin in the corner.  “Would you like me to take you to the other side? This is actually just one split building. We have a ‘secret passage’ in back.”

“Yes, please,” Glorfindel replied. “Is that where Fingon is?”

“That is where he was going to go once he finished at the vault.  We shall see.” Lilrulanon left the wig on a chair and took the broom back to a closet, then showed Glorfindel back through the door in the back.  There was an office space here, and a crafting area with half-finished wigs in varying stages of completion. They walked to the other side, where a door was ajar and merry laughter and discussion could be heard of many female voices.  “Right through here,” said Lilrulanon as he led the way into a brightly painted shop with several counters of cosmetics, jeweled hair combs, and other fancy adornments. Three young girls were chasing about, playing some game of their own making in which one had a long ribbon she held aloft while the others ran and hopped after her.  Two women stood behind the counter, while Fingon leaned on the counter, looking down through the glass at something one of the ladies was pointing to. Another lady was arranging a display in the window, and another sat at a table to the side, writing figures in a book while Erulisu leaned over to point at things.

Glorfindel caught sight of his husband and felt his breath taken away. An embarrassing and uncontrollable reaction was taking place in his breeches at the same moment, which he did his best to divert attention from while tugging his tunic a little lower. Fingon appeared more beautiful than he had ever seen him. Erestor was going to faint from happiness if he was not warned somehow. Then again…  Trying to remember they were not alone, he took some deep breaths to calm himself again, unfortunately aware that at least one or two of the ladies had caught sight of him and were doing what all ellith do--stringing together what was really happening at the speed of light and drawing unfortunately accurate conclusions. One of them especially had him in her sights. “Is your husband not a feast for the eyes?” she smiled encouragingly, inviting him to come to Fingon. 

All the blond could manage was blushing and nodding, which earned him smiles of approval.

“Oh,” Úrnissë said to the other. “Oh, look at him. You are Lord Glorfindel, is that right?” She was hardly paying attention to the answer. “Those eyes. Just the palest liner in an eggplant color.” 

“A smoky gray on the eyelids, and the barest touch of medium brown over the eyelashes--Blessed Eru, look how long they are!”

“Or a subtle earthy brown for daytime; that would compliment his golden skin and also accent his eyes. Such strength in his features! The well-defined jaw, robust cheekbones.” Only now did any of them seem aware that Glorfindel was actually a living person in the room blushing several hues of pink and not a mannequin. 

“Forgive my family, Lord,” Erulisu chided them. “You are blessed with exceptional personal beauty, and it is difficult for them to contain themselves. It is rare for someone so comely to grace us with a visit.”

Fingon approached and took hold of Glorfindel’s hand.  “Miss me?” he teased as he lifted Glorfindel’s hand to his lips and kissed it before he kissed Glorfindel on the lips.  “The girls wanted to beautify us a little… I told them what we were intending tonight, but they really just want to make you and me all dolled up.  I told them it would be completely up to you.”

“You are so handsome,” the blond breathed. The ellith had applied cosmetics, but not as Fingon often did. Heavy eyeliner was gone in exchange for subtle shading that ran only on his top eyelid, hugging close to the lashes. This gave an illusion that his eyes were even larger. Little applications of skin color to both lighten and darken evened out the skin around his eyes, boosting their color. The tiniest shadings tricked the eye into seeing different contours--all while it barely being noticeable that he wore any cosmetics at all. 

“We call this ‘less is more,’ one of the tonsor’s wives explained. “No overt theatricality, but full use of light and shadow to enhance the beauty already present.”

Glorfindel understood the idea; it was quite similar to painting a portrait. “You are stunning, Káno. Erestor is going to...I am not sure what, but it will be something. Damn. I take it you wish for me to have the same done? I am eager to try, I admit. This is more fun than painting canvases.”

“Well… here is my thought,” Fingon said as he linked an arm with Glorfindel and led him to a tall chair near some lit lamps and a mirror.  “I had a feeling, after I initially saw myself, that you would have some sort of reaction, and, you did not disappoint.” Fingon’s comment was met with light laughter from some of the women.  “Now, these darlings are so kind to do this, and… can we be honest? If we have a party tonight, we will not really be thinking about the party. I might; you will not,” he drawled close to Glorfindel’s ear as they reached the seat.  “So, theoretically, what if we planned for a party tomorrow, and… perhaps sent invitations--well, maybe not send, maybe we just verbally invite them--to another plural marriage family… not sure where in all creation we might find one,” he teased, “and then we have time to decorate, and it is not a complete surprise, and Gildor is really good at toning himself down when there are children there… oh, look, three children…”  He looked to where the triplets were now entwining a leg of the table with the ribbons they were previously waving around. “What say you?”

“You would really come?” Glorfindel asked the family, obvious eagerness betrayed in his eyes. “Oh, that would be so fun…” How anyone could possibly deny the expression of pure yearning on that face--well, Fingon was counting on it.

“We rarely get to do anything as a whole family,” expressed Lilrulanon, who was now wiping down the glass counters.  “Father fears for our safety, so we only go places in small groups, so that we look ‘normal’.”

“I wanna see the playhouse!” shouted one of the younglings, and this was followed by the same sentiment from the other two, and much hopping around until one of the girls hit her head on the underside of the table.  Úrnissë calmly came forward and picked up the child to cuddle her and wipe her tears. 

Erulisu stood up and kissed his daughter’s head, and this seemed to staunch her tears.  “It would be a great honor to see the Cottage of Lost Play once again. I have many fond memories of being there in my younger days.”

“What time suits you best for being able to arrive? Our time is more flexible tomorrow and we want this to be convenient for you,” Fingon mentioned.

There were several head tilts and at one point Lilrulanon was tallying on his fingers, and it was suddenly evident that the entire family, though perhaps not the littlest at this point, were all engaged in silent conversation together.  The strength of such a bond was impressive to Fingon, and he looked at Erulisu once he cleared his throat and said, “Early afternoon would be preferred, because of the little ones. They are not far from their bedtime now,” he said, and this was with some light yet left in the sky.

“I think we can accommodate that,” said Fingon.  He looked to Glorfindel for confirmation.

“Yes. Absolutely. Are there any foods you do not prefer or cannot eat? Many in our household do not eat meat, so I like to check,” Glorfindel mentioned.

“The girls are picky,” Úrnissë said.  “The rest of us are not. They are children, though.  Today all they wanted to eat were potatoes. Tomorrow it might be oatmeal or strawberries or bacon.”

“I approve of the bacon,” remarked Fingon.  “I completely understand the odd eating habits of children.  I already have a few ideas of things I used to make for my son long ago that they might like.”

Úrnissë put the now fussing child back onto the ground and said, “I heard you were looking for fireworks,” to Glorfindel.  “If you like, I can make a few rockets for tomorrow. It happens to be one of my hobbies.”

“As long as we do not set the grain fields on fire,” Glorfindel fretted a little. “My husband would kill me. I mean, he is usually quite gentle but…”

“We understand,” Erulisu chuckled. “We, too, have had large gardens in the past. No more need be said. We shall be very careful and ask before doing anything at all.”

“Now that we settled that…”  Fingon patted the chair and smiled at Glorfindel.  “Sit. I recall a mention of eggplant eyeliner, and I need to see if the image in my mind will match reality.”

Within the hour, they were leaving the shop, with the basket slightly heavier from the three satchels of cosmetics they were leaving with.  There was also a white scarf with blue and light green embroidery upon it for Erestor, as Fingon spent some of the extra time browsing the wares and spending a few of the coins he had earned that night.  “I have much of it with the vaultkeeper,” Fingon said once they were on the walk outside of the shop. “I did not feel comfortable carrying all of that home with me. All total, he paid me fifteen hundred.  So. I have some with me, but only because I may have need of it tonight. I want to stop at the stables,” he revealed. “We have been getting by for years with the horses we have. We could use some strong stallions for riding, plowing, pulling things I forget the names of because all farm equipment looks the same to me.  They stay open very late, so we need not rush. What...would you like to do now?” Fingon asked as he turned on his heel so that he was suddenly facing Glorfindel.

“Do not take this the wrong way, please,” Glorfindel asked. “But while I am glad to look tonight, I wanted to ask if you would wait to purchase with Erestor. You know a great deal about horses and racing them but he is the real farmer. And...Asfaloth...they might save us a great deal of headache by being able to advise us in a way I cannot know. I only do not wish you to feel slighted or that I am…” He sighed. “Why is it so easy for me to speak my mind sometimes, and at other times so very hard?” He leaned into Fingon, holding him tightly.

“Because I am the same way, and we were cut of the same cloth,” said Fingon.  He held Glorfindel a little while, and then took a step back. “I will wait to bring Erestor to purchase most of them.  I do want to buy two of them tonight. One for me, and one for you. I know you have Asfaloth, but… I know this sounds odd, but I would eventually like to buy one for him, too.  I think he might actually like to go riding with all of us sometimes. For you, though, something for riding, perhaps not racing, unless you want. And… for me, my heart says racing, but my head says riding.  I think… I need to find my thrills on the ground, not in the air or on the back of a horse that might leap me to a broken neck or worse.”

“I am glad because…Káno I cannot tell you what to do, but...the idea of you racing and doing some of the gymnastic things you do causes my head to reel with anxiety. I did not used to be like this, but now I know what it is to experience loss. I would be very grateful if the risks you take are far less...that kind,” Glorfindel implored. “I thank you for your generosity and I will shush and enjoy the rest of this,” he smiled, bestowing a kiss on Fingon’s tempting mouth. It was harder than it should have been to stop. “I guess I need to save that for home,” he admitted, adjusting his leggings ruefully.

Fingon licked his lips and said, “I wanted to take you to a show, but I fear unless we can get a private box, we will surely cause great scandal in the dark of the theatre.”

“I could give you a show,” Glorfindel said shyly. “I have always felt a little intimidated to let you see but...I could practice with my swords for you. I mean, I am not nearly as good as you are, but I thought maybe…”

“Yes,” said Fingon, practically panting.  “I mean…” He swallowed hard and tried to appear casual as he took hold of the basket and used it to block view of himself from waist down.  “If you want to, sure. That would be nice.”

“You are not fooling me,” Glorfindel leaned up to run a fingertip along an ear very briefly. “I think we should focus on just getting home without engaging in unseemly behavior in public. Do you agree? For you are not the only one with a problem.” Glorfindel had one of the larger bags he carried also shielding the view of his groin from others.

“Horses, then,” Fingon said, speaking with his authoritative tone.  “Walking will not do. I would only get you as far as that alleyway we passed by earlier.  I think I can keep it together long enough to look at some horses. I already had one in mind for myself last week when I strolled by, if the horse is still there, that is.”

Indeed, when they reached the stable, the horse in question was still available, and Fingon managed a little light negotiation for a discount if they bought two horses now, with the continuation of the discount later if he returned to procure additional horses, should the pair they chose tonight be found to be favorable.  Fingon made sure to inspect several other horses before he finally approached a rather tall cream colored horse with large brown patches. “This one might just be the right size for me,” he mused.

“Can I name him after a golden flower?” Glorfindel asked wistfully. “I did that with all my horses in Gondolin.” A snort escaped him. “How did everyone not know I was a homosexual? My wife was right, I might as well have sewn lace on my house banner. But this beautiful boy...I think he is a beautiful Narcissus. Look at those eyes, the curve of that gorgeous neck…” 

The stallion nickered, and extended his nose. Glorfindel happily exchanged that first greeting of shared air, inhaling deeply of the horse’s sweet breath while nuzzling the whisper-soft muzzle.

“I think I am becoming a little jealous, and I have not even made an offer on him yet,” Fingon teased, more than a little enchanted with the sight of Glorfindel’s innocent and unaffected behavior.  “He looks ve-ry-oh...my...excuse me.” Fingon suddenly walked past Glorfindel, which turned into a sprint to reach a young stallion. The horse had a shiny black head and neck, and legs to match, but switched to pure snowy white at the bottom of the neck and the top of his legs, and speckled with black.  His mane and tail were pure black, and he sniffed curiously at Fingon as he slowed his approach. “I need you in my life,” murmured Fingon as he touched the horse’s nose, and the creature leaned into his touch. “Dressage. I can see it now,” Fingon said as Glorfindel and his chosen mount approached. “New plan,” Fingon whispered.  “Three horses. The other one we saw is beautiful, and Erestor is tall enough that he could ride him. This beauty… can you just imagine how he would look, dancing his way around a field with me? He looks like he is wearing a speckled horse sweater.”

The horse was absolutely arresting and Glorfindel did not doubt that the seller would ask a high price. But how could he possibly chide Fingon with his miserly tendencies after he had just committed an act of such selflessness?  “Of course, darling. I can indeed imagine that.” Discreetly, Glorfindel took his hand and squeezed it. “Anything you wish.” Dressage was after all far safer than eventing or gymkhana; perhaps this was a best possible scenario.

“You know who else would look amazing in competition of that sort?” Fingon asked, and he turned to place his hands on Glorfindel’s shoulders, and looked down at Glorfindel with a smirk that conveyed to Glorfindel that he was looking at the person he felt would look as stunning as he on the back of a well-trained and focused steed.

“Oh, I….” Glorfindel blushed. “I have not been a serious rider in a very long time. I, uhm…” he sighed. “I am learning dressage, I suppose?” The colorful eyes looked up adoringly at Fingon, confessing that they would do anything asked of him if only to please his lover.

“I know nothing about it, either,” Fingon told him.  “I thought maybe we could alternate… alright, so, I have this plan in my head, and if you think it is stupid, then tell me, and that will be the end of it.  Do you recall how I keep trying to find something that you and I are able to do? Some sort of an activity that you and I can do together, not so much so that we are ignoring Erestor, but so that you and I have a chance to…”  Fingon shrugged, suddenly shy. “You know, get to know each other better. Some sort of courtship-type thing or something.”

“I would be honored, Fingon. Maybe I should have been more specific. I know a great deal about the art, but only up here.” Glorfindel tapped the side of his head. “I have never engaged in the very exacting process of schooling my body or that of a horse to this discipline.” He looked right and left, to ensure no one was nearby. “Please do not tell Erestor, but one time Ecthelion tried to teach me some of it on an actual horse and I could not walk right for three days. I felt humiliated and I dared not let on to anyone that I was in such pain. But he was very interested in it and so I listened to him wax poetic regarding every nuance.”

“Perhaps we will start with books, and very short lessons, then,” suggested Fingon.  “We can alternate weeks with dancing lessons,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I would like that but...do you object to me involving Asfaloth? I mean, he can be a bit much sometimes but I do love him and...you know, horse…” Glorfindel’s expression was one of great hopefulness prepared for potential disappointment.

“Do you think Asfaloth wants to try dressage?  Or did you mean involving him in our dancing?” wondered Fingon.

“No, the dressage,” Glorfindel said. “You know how he is about looking pretty, and you know how he is about showing off. And you also know how he is about proving that he can do anything better than any other horse. So even the merest suggestion that I would need to turn to another mount who could do it better...I think I need not say much more. And if I promised to groom him extra nice he would be thrilled. There are times I feel bad that I do not give him more attention. He really is an incredible gift to me, and I should acknowledge that more than I do. Even if he is hornier than all three of us together.” 

Fingon burst out laughing.  “Who am I to come between a boy and his horse?” he mused with a wink.  “You must know he is growing on me. I think I was just so overwhelmed when he showed up and was so forward, as if he had known me for years.  I would welcome the friendly competition between us--who knows, maybe this will be the one time I do not manage to win at something, but I would take the loss quite gracefully.”

“I thought he could teach us, too. I mean, the entire point of the thing is horse and rider, moving as one. As if their minds were joined. Here we have the chance to actually speak to the horse. I would find that enlightening. At least, I hope I would.”

“That is fascinating.  I never thought of it that way,” admitted Fingon.  He looked at the fancy black and white horse before him and said, “What do you think?  Are you up for the challenge?” The horse blinked its huge eyes, thinking the elf in front of him looked easy to carry, and made nice noises, and would take him home and away from the bustle of the city which he did not like, so he butted his head gently against the chest of the elf and nuzzled his shoulder.

“I want you to get him,” Glorfindel told Fingon. “And one for Erestor, if it pleases you. But please, may I decline? I already have a horse that is incomparable. I would feel it to be too extravagant. Once we know Asfaloth’s feelings on riding, I will not stand in your way if you still wish it.”

Fingon chewed at his lip while he stroked the head of the speckled horse standing with them.  “You are a very hard man to buy presents for,” he accused gently. “I want to get something for you… what about… mmm, no, you do not ride Asfaloth with a saddle.  More bells? What about some bells… though, that seems more for him than you.” Fingon scratched his head. “I wish I knew better what you liked so that we did not have these awkward moments of… me not being able to figure out you would not want another horse.”

Glorfindel’s lips parted in surprise. He understood the rebuke, delivered in such a kind manner. Immediately so many of his little quirks and behaviors that he had always considered an asset did not seem so--after all, for time uncounted now he had not been able to really afford extravagances, preferring to bestow those on Erestor when the means arose. Erestor had always understood the many small things that he liked. Useful gifts that were not necessarily costly, but just enough so that with his overly prudent habits he would never purchase for himself. A good quality paintbrush. A special color of paint. A coveted tool that could make his woodworking projects easier. A reference volume on a subject of interest. So many years of history were unknown to Fingon.  “I have not been fair to you, and I am sorry. There are small things I covet, but they are peculiar and you would have no easy means of knowing what those are.” He bit his lips together with his teeth, creating a strange facial expression while considering. “There is something. It would be for all of us, and yet my mind has wandered a great deal to the subject because there are projects I would like very much like to create in relation to it that we could not afford.”

“Name it,” insisted Fingon as he took hold of Glorfindel’s hands.

“Well, we talked about an orchard. The fruit trees. I know that the best quality ones are what Erestor wants and they are more costly but he is right--you get what you pay for and the purchase of good ones could save us an entire year on when we begin seeing fruit. But the part I want to go with that...I want to build a shop. Not just a shop, a place to bring in the fruit when it is picked, to sort through it. I want an area to build things. A place to work sheltered from the elements, even in wintertime if the need arises. That means building materials and lumber, and some higher quality tools I cannot afford and…” he looked down, fretting. “I worry that what I am asking will cost far more than five of this horse.”

“This sounds like a much bigger project than I can manage this evening, but let us plan it out.  I feel we can find a way to do it,” Fingon said with certainty. “Something tonight though… I have been to one or two barn raisings if I have been to fifty, and there is always a helper horse, if you will… that big, strong steed who is not going to win a race, but who has the strength of three horses and is yet a gentle creature and wants nothing more than to please his or her master.  Tomorrow, let us plan this workshop you want to create, but let us find a horse not so much for riding as for hauling carts of apples and dragging logs. You forget, it will not be as costly as you think -- we have a whole forest of lumber on the property, and plenty enough fallen trees to work with. This is not so difficult a task you put before me,” he told Glorfindel.

“I love you very much,” Glorfindel said, flushed with pleasure to be given a positive response. Shyly, he kissed the back of Fingon’s hand in something akin to modest adulation. “What about him? Over there?” His sharp eyes caught the subtle movements of the towering animal, who admittedly would not necessarily win any prizes for equine beauty. The hair at his fetlocks was bedraggled and muddy, his hooves clearly needed the attention of a farrier, and his demeanor seemed a little despondent. But one glance at his body told anyone that he was strong, very strong. And yet the seller had him out of the way, barely near any of the lighting, as if he was unwanted. “There is something about him.” Immediately Glorfindel went to the animal and saw that his coat was an unusual pattern. Mottled dark gray amidst an even darker--perhaps it was black?-- base coat. The big gelding immediately whickered, in a manner that suggested surprise, as if he were used to being ignored. “Why are you back here, boy?” He asked in a whisper, looking more carefully. “Something just does not seem right.”

The proprietor, who had given them distance thus far, rode up on her own horse, a pure white mare it was evident that Asfaloth would have loved to have gotten his hooves on.  “You have an interest in Thrond. As you can see, he is shy. Timid but loyal, and strong enough for farm work,” she added, having spoken to Fingon of all of his intentions up front.  She seemed to consider something as she looked the gelding over. “He is getting on in years, and he needs a job, which I cannot provide him here.” She looked directly at Fingon and said, “Pay me tonight for the other two, make a deposit on the others you intend to purchase, and you can take Thrond with you, as long as you promise that if you find yourself without need of him, that you bring him back to my care.”

“I do not mean to seem impertinent,” Glorfindel frowned, “but why are his hooves this unkept? We are interested, but we do need him to be able to do some work and not only be a large pet.”

“He will work for you.  He longs for it,” she replied.  “He only recently came to us, and as you can tell, is not the sort of horse I typically breed.  His previous owner was a rather difficult person; one of my competitors, with whom I am most unfortunately too familiar.  Thrond was injured, and rather than pay to see to his care and bring him back to health, his owner thought glue to be a better use for him.  I was able to intervene, and here Thrond is. He has been skittish, though, and I was more concerned with his injury than his daily upkeep. You may find he becomes quite attached, but as I said, he is loyal, and works hard.  He was a dock horse; he used to help pull smaller boats from one pier to another, or carry loads onto the ships. I am sure he will find his usefulness on a farm.”

_ I want him, _ Glorfindel asked.  _ She appears to be truthful and that she would take him back is enough of a surety for me. Please? _

“Done.”  Fingon reached up, and the pair shook hands.  “For now, we will take this speckled one,” he said of the young horse that had taken to following him around, “and… that one,” he said as he pointed out the horse he had first taken an interest in.

The lady looked down the field to where Fingon was pointing, and then looked back.  “I do not think you want that horse,” she said.

“Oh?  Why not?”  asked Fingon as he stroked the spotted horse’s dark muzzle.

“Panda is fine.  I meant Balch.” She rolled up her sleeves, one after the other, displaying bruises on them.  “He did that,” she explained. “He also bites. We are still working with him.”

“We are very experienced with horses, and have no objection to working with him,” Glorfindel added. After all, he had a talking horse and a husband that could speak with any of Eru’s creatures. How complicated could it be? “That is, if my husband agrees,” he deferred.

Fingon looked between Glorfindel, the owner, and the horse, who was now picking a fight with one of the donkeys.  “Um…” He pivoted on one foot and stuck out his arm, finger pointing at another tall horse they had previously looked at.  “What about that horse?” he asked.

“He might be a better option.  Shall we take a look?” She dismounted, and walked with Fingon to the horse in question.

Meanwhile, Glorfindel stood by himself, admiring the lovely horse.  A sudden stinging came to his eyes, and he pinched his nose. “That horse sounds stubborn and just a little mean,” he said to Panda, who had decided to stay where he was and eat a little more while the Elves made funny noises.  “And I know exactly who can relate to that horse.” Glorfindel walked across the field until he reached the majestic stallion, who had just finished chasing away the donkey. Despite the horse towering over him, Glorfindel boldly took hold of the horse’s head and eased his neck so that they were eye to eye with one another.  It made Glorfindel feel a little cross-eyed, so he had to turn his head slightly. “You really want to be stuck here? With an attitude like that, you will be.” The horse snorted. “What is your problem anyhow? You are pretty, well cared for, and from the looks of it, fed well, too. You get plenty of exercise, and you have people who are training you to--ah, that is it,” Glorfindel said as the horse snorted again.  “What part is it? Learning new things? Carrying a rider? The saddle… yes, it must be that,” mused Glorfindel. “You do not want to be tamed. You will carry a rider, on your own terms.” Glorfindel sighed himself, and looked a few feet away, where Fingon stood with his arms crossed over his chest, and his head tilted to the side. 

“Were you talking to him?” asked Fingon as Glorfindel let go of the horse.

“How else can I figure out what is wrong?” asked Glorfindel.  “I have known many horses in my lifetimes, and I find that talking to them is far more effective than guessing.”  He scratched the horse under the chin, and the equine’s eyelids drooped a little. “Balch is a dumb name. I would be difficult, too, if someone had named me Balch.  I would like to bring you home and give you a new name. May I try riding you? No saddle, no bit. There is someone I think you should meet, but you need to promise you will not attack us, or him, and I need to be able to ride you home.”

Fingon kept a careful watch as Glorfindel walked twice around the horse, and then, in a move that Fingon had never before seen, Glorfindel mounted the horse without aid of stirrups or a box, and sat with held breath for a moment before he relaxed.  “Halfway there,” commented Fingon. “Now you just need to get him to move.”

“Well, go on, boy. I know you would like to show off your beauty. Would you show me how you can walk? I expect to be impressed,” Glorfindel told him softy.

It was not long before Glorfindel and Fingon were riding out of the pasture and back home, with Glorfindel on the breathtaking stallion, and Fingon on the giddy black and white horse, while Thrond proudly trotted along behind them, with all of the things they had bought in town tucked neatly into his saddlebags.

  
  


####  Day 19 - Evening

“Was that the doorbell?” asked Celebrían.  

Gildor was on his feet immediately.  “I can get it!” he announced, leaving the meal in the kitchen to answer the door.  When he opened it, his eyes swelled and his mouth fell open.

Fingon placed a finger to his lips.  “Not a word,” he cautioned, and Gildor noded.  “Give us five minutes, and then ask Erestor if he can go get… something for you that you left on the rooftop.  Something, anything. Make it up. Just get him up there alone. Can you do that?”

“You have sexy hair again,” Gildor whispered, and he reached out to fluff the ends.  Fingon allowed him to indulge for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Yes. Erestor, rooftop, five minutes.”

“Good boy,” Fingon said as he and Glorfindel hastened their way up the stairs.

Gildor shut the door and whistled as he strolled back into the kitchen.

In a flurry of activity, Glorfindel hastened to make a comfortable place to lie with cushions and the assorted bedding they now kept up there. Some days ago he had been visited with an idea to repurpose one of the poorly utilized storage crates from the sub-basement. Gildor helped, and they wrestled the unwieldy object (that had more in common with a chest than a crate) to a corner of the roof. Into it had gone pillows, blankets, sheets; now all those fabrics had protection from inclement weather and curious small creatures. With further nudging from Gildor, Glorfindel decorated it with attractive botanical designs so that it blended in well with the pots of flowers Erestor kept in the area.  A few days afterward, Gildor presented Glorfindel with a surprise--a palliasse sewn from canvas, with multiple panels able to be stuffed with clean straw. This outdoor ‘mattress’ could be rolled up and covered with a sort of tarapulin. This could function as a bolster-seat or even a backrest when they wished to sit and stargaze. Which at the moment, they assuredly did not--soon an attractive and inviting bed appeared that was ready to beckon the three of them.

The task Fingon saw to was to use the top of the chest to set up an elegant table of treats.  There was the cheese, and the chocolates, and the rest of the treats, plus a bottle of wine that they had the sense to pick up from a vinter on the way back to the cottage.  “Catch,” said Fingon as he withdrew a bottle of oil from the basket and tossed it to Glorfindel. In the little time they had remaining, Fingon shook out the scarf he had purchased for Erestor and draped it over his own head.  “In answer to your earlier question,” rushed Fingon, “I did not tell Erestor what I intended this evening, only that I wanted to take you out on the town and that he should not necessarily wait up for us--oh! That sounds like someone on the steps!”  Fingon arranged the satchels of cosmetics in the basket, tossed the loose end of the scarf over his shoulder, and stood at the ready.

Glorfindel scurried to meet their husband, who smirked at him and delivered a kiss in greeting. “Gildor is a terrible liar,” Erestor announced. “Just so you know. This reeks of a surprise. However, Káno has made me rethink surprises. I might be amenable to some surprises. Possibly. It would depend on the surmmmmmmmffff--”

Firmly cupping Erestor’s cheeks, Glorfindel brought his own face near and pressed a kiss onto the talkative lips. He rubbed his entire body across Erestor’s. First, the baby-smooth cheeks, his chest, his aroused groin. A complete show was made of lightly brushing a few more kisses in places that appealed to him; at the end a thumb brushed Erestor’s nipple through his clothing. “There, now you are suitably silenced. Pay attention now, for your surprise is here.” The darkling was guided by the shoulders to where he could see Fingon.

“Oh!” Erestor exclaimed. “You both are indeed shaved. Mmmm. Well, now. This feels like an invitationy-surprise….and….is the scarf for me?” he asked hopefully, unwrapping some of it to better see it and to kiss Fingon who only smiled at him. “It is beautiful. You are both going to spoil...me…” The dark eyes nearly bulged out of Erestor’s fair face, as he saw his husband’s styled hair. Pure lust took root in his features, and his rapid arousal tellingly tented the fabric of his clothing. Erestor swallowed hard and exhaled a panting breath.

“I think he likes it,” Glorfindel smiled affably.

“I certainly hope he does,” Fingon said.  “I do not believe there is enough glue on the island to reattach it all.”  Fingon ran a hand through his mane and fluffed it a little. “But, yes, the scarf is yours.  What do you think of it? We found the nicest little shop at the end of the road by the docks,” he said, continuing on with a merry gaze but otherwise stoic features by which to tease Erestor as long as he could keep it up.

“It is...sceautiful barf,” Erestor answered, oblivious to his jumbled words. “Please. Please make love to me. It hurts,” he pleaded, holding his shaft against the intense swelling. “You are...ohhhhhh.” Trembling fingers pushed back the head covering, to reveal more of the stunning mane. Erestor’s fingers dove in, while he moaned quite audibly to feel the silken waves. “Sooooo….hmmmmmmmnnnhhh…”

“He is melting,” Glorfindel said, almost a little worried. Erestor could be lustful but had never been quite this inarticulate. “Come, Ress. Come to the bed. Káno, kiss him, and I will remove his clothing. That is an order.”

“How can I refuse an order from the captain? Technically he outranks me.  Technically, you both do,” mused Fingon as he slid the scarf from his head and with a flick of his wrist had behind Erestor’s neck.  His other hand grabbed the loose end before it could fall and he used the garment to pull Erestor into a demanding kiss while he lifted a knee to rub at Erestor’s groin.

Erestor’s constant noises of ecstasy reminded Glorfindel that once, they both took greater care of themselves as to dress, grooming, and overall personal appearance. True, their lives were different now, but witnessing Erestor’s unusually passionate response to Fingon’s transformation caused him to realize, they did indeed need activities that more closely resembled courtship. No, they did not need to garden in their finest silks, but how hard could it really be to render themselves extra appealing to each other for special evenings? His mind drifted to Gildor, and how much of his allure was visual. And then he remembered he was supposed to be removing trousers.

Erestor had some vague awareness of being disrobed from the waist down, and allowed himself to be led along to the place so carefully arranged for lovemaking. “F-feel bad,” Erestor managed to say. “Your night with Fin and I am the one in your arms.” He swallowed hard. “It should be Glorfindel,” he whispered, overriding the burning in his groin to say what he felt was right.

“Oh, Glorfindel is here, and I have plentiful desire in my loins,” replied Fingon.  He nipped at Erestor’s bottom lip and whispered to him, “He will have his due, this I promise you.”  Hands wandered and assisted Glorfindel in the removal of every last stitch of clothing once adorning Erestor’s form.  “Glorfindel and I had a lovely time tonight, but something was missing,” Fingon said as he gently pulled Erestor down onto the makeshift bed.  Only now did he realize his own clothing was still on, and he looked up. “Fin? Little help here, if you would,” he said as he tried in vain to kick his own boots off.

Glorfindel laughed at the predicament. “I live to serve,” he chuckled. “Now you both are, er, able to connect. And please do not damage your tunics, I am rather fond of both of them!”

“Details,” Fingon sighed, but he sat up so that he could divest himself of the clothing on his upper half, which was flung across the rooftop and just missed a chair.  Erestor’s tunic, already off, was retrieved and waved like a victory flag before it, too, was thrown far away. It missed the chair as well. “Now… where were we? Right.  You are in desperate need for me to make love to you,” murmured Fingon as he aligned himself over Erestor and smoothed back his lover’s dark hair, which he could actually enjoy seeing now without having his own hair obscure it by flopping all over the place.  “The only question that remains is, slow and easy like a calm shoreline, or intense and vibrant, like a cascading waterfall?”

Erestor blinked, at a loss for words, but his longtime partner had no such difficulties. “He wants it hard. Not fuck him into the rooftop hard, but vigorous, at least. He is already close to exploding, that is how badly he wants you,” whispered Glorfindel into Fingon’s ear. Erestor of course overheard, and just whimpered as he tried halfheartedly to pull Fingon’s body onto his own.

This verbal foreplay afforded Fingon the time needed to ignite his own passion, and he reached for the strategically placed oil.  “It will be my pleasure,” Fingon said as he slicked himself. He paused now and looked down at Erestor. “I seem to recall a conversation, years ago, that we had on the subject of anal pleasure… to stretch or not to stretch.  My recollection is that those who are avid participants are not always in need of lengthy preparation, but may still enjoy it. My question then, is,” he said, trying very, very hard not to smile or smirk at the playful torture he was subjecting Erestor to, “should I use this to prepare you, or are you slightly more this side of impatient at the moment and just want me to get on with it, as it were?”

Glorfindel leaned back and smiled but said nothing. Erestor’s eyes widened. He carefully wrapped his fingers around the large arousal on display for him, and with a sound much like “huuunnnnnnhhhhhh” tried to wiggle his own entrance somewhere that might result in successful penetration. Glorfindel had to turn aside momentarily and bite his lips, else he was going to break out in laughter at his poor husband’s antics. This was a new side to Erestor, one he found he welcomed.

“It would seem you wish to commence with the lovemaking,” answered Fingon, though it took nearly everything to keep from laughing.  “Very well. Allow me to place this--uhhnn, oh, my, you are fiesty tonight,” decided Fingon as Erestor managed to plant the tip of Fingon’s desire within him while at the same time batting the bottle away with his other hand.  “So beautifully, deliciously impatient,” Fingon declared as he took a firm hold of Erestor’s hips. This caused a loss of the breach, but only momentarily. “If that is what you want,” he said calmly, and they were the last even words spoken by him for some time, for his next action was to position himself in the most ideal way, and to ease Erestor onto his erection.  He was not slow, but neither did he plunge within, and yet he did not hesitate as he joined their bodies together. Once rooted, he closed his eyes and focused on the sensation. He moved his muscles so that he wiggled a little inside of Erestor, and then, instead of thrusting, stayed as still as he could while he moved Erestor’s body, impaling him over and over.

Glorfindel spoke to Fingon. _ The first time ever Erestor and I made love in Rivendell--not the early encounters he could not recall but when he at last chose me of his full free will--it was a little hesitant. Awkward. But one thing I will never forget is that when I first reached out for him, long before we had begun our actual coupling, he burst. Ejaculated forcefully at my merest touch. I thought it was the most endearing and sexy thing I had ever seen. It was-- _

Without warning, Erestor’s semen erupted with a guttural cry from his untouched erection, arcing from two consecutive pulses over one of his shoulders to anoint the barrier wall behind their makeshift bed.

_ Well to be honest it was a lot like that, but without having made it to penetration,  _ Glorfindel concluded, pleased to feel Erestor’s satisfaction and relief along with him. Reaching out, he stroked Erestor’s dewy skin, and a finely formed hand curled up to hold his arm.

Fingon gently laid Erestor back down, separating from him, but keeping his hands in contact with Erestor’s hips.  “That was beautiful,” he crooned as he leaned down to kiss Erestor’s lips. He sighed wistfully. “I so do wish I had been able to be with you--both of you--in Rivendell.”

“So do we,” breathed Erestor dreamily. “But...sometimes it was not so good. I would not have wanted you to see me when I was burned. It was a long time before I would let anyone but Fin or Elrond’s sons lay eyes on me.”

“We should not dwell upon those things,” Glorfindel soothed. “You are beautiful. They could not take that away from you. It would have been lovely to share our early days with Fingon.”

“Early days?” Erestor asked, amused. “Your second life, our early days?”

“You know what I mean, brat!” Glorfindel leaned down to steal a kiss from the dark beauty. “I loved watching you just now. So sexy,” he purred. 

“Speaking of ‘so sexy,’ darling,” Fingon intruded himself into the kisses. “I am not nearly done yet, and I am burning for you.”

“Go,” Erestor slapped Glorfindel lightly on the bottom. “I am going to return the favor.” He began tugging at Glorfindel’s clothing, while the blond was taken hungrily into Fingon’s embrace.  “You wore too many layers,” grumbled Erestor as he fought with Glorfindel’s belt.

“Think about how I felt when you wore those long, heavy robes!” countered Glorfindel before Fingon silenced him with a kiss.  Erestor made short work of the rest of Glorfindel’s clothing, and soon flopped down to watch the scene unfold before him.

At first, Fingon balanced over Glorfindel, peppering kisses over his skin.  His hair brushed over Glorfindel’s flesh as he moved from his shoulder to his stomach and then to his throat.  Then, without warning, he rolled them both over, so that Glorfindel was now peering down at him. “Mmm… so many possibilities,” mused Fingon.  “Do you have anything in particular in mind, darling?” he asked as he traced a finger over Glorfindel’s lips.

“I want it like this morning,” Glorfindel stated shyly, blushing a little. “I do not think you have to be quite so gentle, I feel like I am gaining some...erm...I do not know what to call it? Resilience?”

He turned his face to Erestor. “Uhm, Ress? We have been...I have been...uhm...the other place,” he whispered, his cheeks flaming with color. “And I now realize I should have said something.”

A moment passed before Erestor realized exactly what was being referred to.  “So many surprises tonight,” he said softly. “Was that why you went off together tonight without me?” he asked, trying not to sound as if he felt abandoned.

“Sweetheart, no,” said Fingon firmly.  “Tonight was hair and horses, and the most trouble we got up to was snogging in an alleyway.”

“No, Ress,” Glorfindel said, now raising his body to reach for Erestor. “I would never do that to you. I can see I have hurt you. Please forgive me. I was...I was so embarrassed. I am still struggling to accept this part of myself. I…” He stopped talking abruptly, while his chin began to quiver. Tears flooded his eyes, and he fought to keep them from spilling over.

Erestor closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then reached out to touch Glorfindel’s shoulder.  “It was a moment. It is passing. All of the worry, regret, and fear, when I would be locked outside of the bedroom flooded over me.  I need to remind myself--this is different. We are…” He opened his eyes. “We are one together, and I need to have faith and trust in that.  I love you both; I know you both love me, and each other, and I need to recognize what a blessed thing this is.” Erestor smiled and focused on the thoughts of pleasure that Glorfindel was now suppressing, and said, “It would seem you enjoyed it.  This is a little strange; I think I expected to feel jealousy,” he said as he glanced at Fingon. “For some reason, that is not the case.”

“Thank you,” Glorfindel said, reaching up to wrap a hand around Erestor’s arm. Now he blinked, and the tears fell quickly but were not renewed. Quickly he brushed his knuckles across his cheeks. “I think that part of why I hesitated is the irony. All those years, you wanted to be with a female. And now I can give you that. Sort of, anyway. But now you have fully embraced your love of males. I wondered if you would--no. I worried that this would disgust you. That...uggghhh.” A gutteral noise of frustration escaped him, and he buried his head in his hands. “I am making a mess of this.”

Erestor nudged his way closer so that he could nuzzle Glorfindel.  “It is ironic. It is fascinating and curious to me, and the thought of what the two of you have been doing is arousing to me,” he admitted.  “This is all because it is the two of you, and, yes, I suppose I have accepted… hmm, that does not seem quite accurate. I have embraced the reality, my reality, that I am in fact a gay man with a very strong preference for beautiful men, and an occasional passing fancy for women, but even as I say that it feels…”  Erestor fought to find the right words. “This past week has been akin to waking up after a long dream that felt real and trying to blink back into a world of wakefulness. My initial reaction to all of this did make me feel left out, but only because I was not there. Perhaps, if it is something you might like to try, I might consider... “  Erestor stifled a yawn before he touched Glorfindel’s cheek. “Someday, perhaps. But, it would seem, until then, your needs will not be neglected.” His gaze swept down to Fingon, still on his back, remaining silent.

Glorfindel looked down. “I just want you to know that I want that with you. A lot. That is, if you ever want me in that way. Not just for the sex, but because the idea of being with you in every way possible is something that would be deeply meaningful to me.” He patted his chest over his heart gently. 

Very slowly, Erestor withdrew his hand so that he could pull one of the cushions close.  He still laid on his side, watching them, as he said, “I would fear I might turn into Faelion--hear me out,” he warned before Glorfindel could dispute him.  “Even now, even after so long, I have a desire to have children. I want so badly to be a father, and I know how you are. You would do anything for me. And…”  Erestor shook his head. “It is not that I would not want the experience with you of being that close, it is that I might ruin it inadvertently with thoughts of inconceivable possibilities.”

“Ress I…” Glorfindel stroked the back of his hand. “I had a thought a few days ago. What if Faelion was infertile? I have reasons to think it might be the case. I know it sounds crazy because of...well, everything. But I, too, want that and I would want to try. I know the odds are almost nonexistent and I worry I would fail you at that, too, but...I would ask for you to not take me like a stallion does a mare. I hated it because he hurt me so much. But...I wanted a child so badly, I was willing to allow him to do anything to get there.”

Erestor stared at Glorfindel, eyes open, expression otherwise unreadable, until he scrambled to stand and briskly walked to the barrier of the roof to look over the edge.  Fingon wrapped an arm protectively around Glorfindel and tried to think of the right thing to say as his other hand rubbed Glorfindel’s back. About a minute later, Erestor turned back around and said clearly, “Not right now.  Not…” He hung his head. “What you just said...what you offer me is such great temptation. And Fingon, I love you deeply, but if I was not able to think calmly and logically right now, I would have told you to move aside. But at this point in my life, I cannot.  I know that I am still healing. I know that I am still working to better myself. I know that I am grasping at what my spiritual needs are. I know that things cannot be completely perfect, but I also know that I am not at this moment at a point where it would be fair to any of us or another life to make such an enormous commitment.”  He ran his hands through his hair as he returned, but stayed just to the side of the nest. Erestor knelt down and tentatively took hold of Glorfindel’s hand. Solemnly, he said, “Someday, if you still feel the same, once I have overcome my demons, I would be honored to be the father of your child, if Eru should grant that to us.”

“Hey now--our child,” said Fingon in an attempt to lighten the mood.  “I get to spoil him just as much if not more.”

“I know there is almost no hope,” Glorfindel admitted. “Even Gildor thinks so. But...I have been granted miracles before so I shall pray and focus on the love I have for both of you. For surely if a new life is created, it will be out of the completeness of our love. I love you. Erestor, you are more beautiful than you can know. There are times your light dazzles me.”

There was blushing, and kissing, and eventually, Erestor pulled himself out of the tangle of bodies with slight reluctance.  “We should discuss the topic later, and we shall. Right now,” he said as he resumed his front row seat, “I want to see what the two of you have been up to.”

“Mmmm,” Glorfindel answered, looking down at Fingon adoringly. “What am I up to? I know you mentioned this position once but...what do you want of me?”

“Ah, well, my mind was wandering a little, and I was just thinking about how flexible my body is,” Fingon admitted.  “Having you atop me gives you a lot of control--however--scoot here a moment,” Fingon directed as he eased Glorfindel off, so that Erestor and Glorfindel had a moment to snuggle while Fingon adjusted himself.  Fingon stretched his arms above his head, pointed his toes, and otherwise readied himself before he contorted his body so that he had his palms above his head pressed against the makeshift bed, and he slowly arched his body.  “I think,” Fingon said, shifting his hands ever so slightly, “you can straddle me, and your feet can rest on either side for support. You can set the pace, and we can see how long I can hold this position.” There was not question as to Fingon’s desire, for he was very much erect, and on display for them both.

“Ride ‘em,” Erestor could not help but whisper, swallowing hard. 

“I think I still will need some help. Some support. I am not him,” Glorfindel pleaded with Erestor, wondering how all that erection was supposed to disappear into there.

“I will help but…Káno, you do realize that if he is not laid out flat, it shortens his passage? He will not be able to take much of you, but I will aid him to try. At least, I think that is what will happen. At least, that was what happ-- erm, please forget I started talking but...oh, shit,” Erestor concluded, blushing red. “I need that veil.”

Fingon flopped back down.  “Oh. Um… no. I…” He sighed.  “My vaginal expertise is severely limited,” he said as he sat up.  He pointed a finger of each hand at Glorfindel. “You tell me what you want to do,” he suggested.

“I know you wanted me to be on top,” Glorfindel said, scratching his blond mane. “Umm…”

“Lie down,” Erestor said to Fingon. “Keep your legs mostly together. “Fin, straddle him and start to bring him inside of you. But once you get a little ways, stretch your legs out before you take in all of him. I think that will help. I might even fondle this or that while I direct.”

Glorfindel felt that Erestor’s eyes seemed unusually merry, and liked the result even more than the suggestion.

Fingon, on the other hand, now had his knees tucked up under his chin.  “I… think we should do something else,” he rushed. “I thought giving control to you would be helpful, but if it could hurt you--I am not going to take any risk that something might cause harm,” he said firmly.  He was shaking a little, and shook his head in a definite manner. “The potential for pleasure is not worth the risk.”

“I feel like a sex failure,” Glorfindel snorted, but clearly he was not upset. “What if we go back to all the hinting from earlier that you just wanted to ravish my body a little?” he asked, his finger now between his teeth with an irresistible expression of charming innocence.

“You are not the failure, Fin,” countered Fingon.  “I am...going to go get some books,” he decided, and he made his way swiftly to the stairway, presumably disappearing to the library on the second floor.

“I do hope everyone else is still in the kitchen,” remarked Erestor as he looked at the pile of discarded clothing.  “Part of me wants to go after him, but I know that sometimes, we just need to leave him alone until he can come back on his own.”

Glorfindel, who appeared about to follow, settled back down.  “Does this mean no ravishing?” Glorfindel whined plaintively, looking at Erestor.

“From Fingon?  Who can say. From me… well, call me the consolation prize?” Erestor joked.

“You will never be a consolation prize.” Glorfindel leaned forward to kiss the dark beauty. “More like...more like...when it is Yule and somehow the best present is saved for last. Or...darn it. I wish I had your elegance with words. That was terrible. But seeing as how I almost said ‘door prize,’ maybe I should just kiss you and stop talking.”

Roughly an hour passed, and Erestor and Glorfindel lost track of time.  Once sated, they snuggled and lightly dozed, while two floors below, Fingon sat in the library, surrounded by small piles of books open to seemingly random pages.

That was how Elrond found him when he excused himself from the parlor to spend some quiet time alone.  “Beg your pardon,” said Elrond as he took a step back once inside the room. 

“Hmm?  Oh. You can come in,” muttered Fingon.  He was wearing a loose black shirt and a pair of trousers that had been thankfully left in the room at some previous point.  Fingon turned to the next page in the book he had in his hands.

Elrond gave a cursory look around, and then said, “I was led to believe, according to Gildor, that you would be occupied on the roof this evening.”

Fingon did not immediately answer the question.  Instead, he set the book down and stretched. “Not at the moment,” he said when he saw that Elrond was still staring at him.

“So the roof is open for stargazing?” queried Elrond.

“The roof is occupied,” answered Fingon quickly.

“Is there a reason the roof is occupied and you are down here?” asked Elrond.

Fingon picked up his book again.  “Research,” he replied, nose back in the book.

Elrond came further into the room, and observed the scene more carefully.  Most of the books had worn spines, but those whose titles he caught--’How to Be a Better Lover’ and ‘The Enigmatic Female’--caused him to wonder little about why Fingon was in the library.  There was an open bottle on the floor at Fingon’s right foot, and he lifted it now, drinking the clear liquid like water, and Elrond crossed the room to sit beside Fingon.

“Would you like to talk?” offered Elrond.

At first, it seemed Fingon was willing to ignore the comment.  It took another drink from the bottle for him to say, “I feel like a fifty year old who just shacked up with a pair of grown, competent, capable men who are enlightened and do not make dumb mistakes.  I feel I do not know a fucking thing about how the fuck to fuck, and it takes a fucking lot for me to put myself out there about things, and then when it is wrong, fuck it. I mean, they have each other for this, they know each other better than I know them, they...dammit!” Fingon wiped his face.  “Just...please go.”

Elrond furrowed his brow and studied Fingon.  “No,” he said quietly. When Fingon looked up at him in a mix of self-doubt, anger, and embarrassment, Elrond stood his ground.  “You should not be alone right now.”

Fingon dropped the book he had been reading onto the desk.  He fingered the bottle of alcohol, but after a full three minutes of silence between them, he got up and swiftly left the room.

With a heavy sigh, Elrond shook his head.  He closed his eyes and concentrated.  _ Papa, where are you? _

In the sitting room, Maedhros opened one eye sleepily.  Gildor was playing harp for himself and Celebrían, and Maedhros now opened the other eye as he caught sight of movement through the doors.   _ I see him. _  Maedhros excused himself without comment from the mini concert and followed the sound of Fingon leaving the house with the dog.  Only when he nearly caught up to Fingon did he speak. “Mind if I join you on your walk?”

Fingon spun around in shock.  “Where did you...come...from?”

Maedhros shoved his hands into his pockets.  “Well, my mother says I was a gift from Eru, but my daddy says he begs to differ sometimes.”

With a groan, Fingon continued on his way.  Maedhros jogged to catch up. “What are you doing out here?” asked Fingon.

“Following you.  Same question; no fair using my answer,” pointed out Maedhros.  When Fingon did not answer, Maedhros tried, “I thought you had a date on the roof?”

“Well, I fucked it up,” Fingon finally hissed at Maedhros.

“How did you fuck it up?” asked Maedhros.  “Other than, storming off like this.”

The dog stopped to urinate, which caused Fingon to stop as well.  “I just did,” he grumbled.

“I find it hard to believe you fucked something up,” Maedhros said.  “How? What? You need to be more specific. How am I to help you if--”

“I fucked up the sex shit, and this is not the first fucking time.”  Fingon lurched slightly as the dog pulled to explore elsewhere. “This is not even the first fucking… people for me to fuck this up with.  I fucked things up with you, too, with this shit.” Fingon stormed off again.

When Maedhros next caught up, he pulled hard on Fingon’s arm to get him to stop.  “Maybe the reason you suck when it comes to sex--hmm, wrong word, because you do not do that--but maybe the reason this is not all perfect for you is because you are so good at so many things that there had to be something to balance that out.  So, what do people do when they do not have knowledge about something like this? They find a teacher.”

“I tried talking to Gildor!  That did nothing!”

“No, you fucking idiot!  Them!” shouted Maedhros as he thrust his hand at the roof.  “The two men up there who for some unknown reason tolerate you like no one else will!   You take your ass up there, you swallow your fucking pride, and you tell them, I have no fucking clue what I am doing.  And do you know what they will do?”

“Think I am an idiot?”

“Honestly, if I thought it would help, I would try to slap some sense into you, cousin,” scolded Maedhros.  “They. Do. Not. Fucking. Care.” Each word was punctuated by a stab of the stub at Fingon’s chest. “They will love you, and they will teach you, and if something really bothers you, you say so.  Do not pull the same shit you pulled on me and leave them in the dark like you did to me. Now, give me the leash,” demanded Maedhros as he grabbed it away from Fingon, “and get your fucking ass back up there!”

Fingon clasped his empty hands together and worried his brow.  He looked upwards at the roof, and then back at Maedhros. “Now?” he questioned.

“No, maybe, next week Tuesday?” suggested Maedhros.  There was a momentary pause before he shouted at Fingon, “Of course now!  Go!” Maedhros sighed as Fingon retreated back to the house. “He can be awful dumb at times,” he said to the dog.

Fingon kept his head down as he made his return to the rooftop.  It appeared his companions were asleep, so he waffled between trying to sneak in to sleep with them for the night, and finding his own little spot elsewhere.  Of course, he had been ordered very specifically by Maedhros to speak with them. If they were sleeping, though, could he be faulted? Fingon cleared his throat ever so softly, and was already devising a plan to sleep elsewhere if there was no answer.

Groggily Glorfindel’s arms found their target, wrapping around Fingon’s legs and pulling with surprising strength. “Wanna snuggle wif my sweetums,” he murmured, barely coherent. “Missed you, love.”

It would have been easy enough to nuzzle his way out of it, but Fingon dropped to his knees, and after a tender touch to Glorfindel’s cheek and a brush of his hand over Erestor’s head, Fingon blurted out, “I am really bad at most of this, and it embarasses me to be this way.  On one hand I should know things, but on the other I do not even know what I do not know, and then part of me still thinks I should not be seeking out these activities because they should not be solely for pleasure, and some things I do not know if I would even want to do, and I am a mess and I apologize and…”  Fingon took a deep breath. “And Maedhros told me I should ask you to teach me… I get so... “ A few tears formed in his eyes. “I get so depressed when I fuck things up like I did earlier. I have...so few people in my life…” No more words came as Fingon sniffled and tried to wipe his eyes, save for, “I am so stupid,” a mantra he repeated a few times until it was evident to Glorfindel and Erestor that no additional thoughts were really formulating fully for Fingon at the moment.

“Sweetums,” Erestor teased a little, “first off, you did not fuck up. We did not know that you were upset, so please pardon our neglect.”

“I have a hard time understanding,” Glorfindel added softly. “I am a man with a vagina and you gave me the gift of learning--for the first time in my life--that I could feel pleasure from having it. You took away all my feelings of shame, and made me feel special and wanted. I know something has upset you but...all I hoped for was your touch. Anywhere. Everywhere. To feel you inside of me, because I loved that. I know you put pressure on yourself to excel at everything but...Káno, this is sex. Not a recital, not a performance. All that matters is us, together, wanting to enjoy each other’s bodies. Wanting to feel the physical expression of our love. There is no way to be stupid about that. Ress? Is there?”

Erestor idly twirled a lock of dark hair around a finger. “Well, maybe? I mean, I felt kind of inept our first time. Like I was not doing it right. Then again we both fucked until we about dropped dead so, I guess I learned fast. Mostly though, I agree. After so long, I just wanted to feel your love. I felt the same the first time Káno took me. There was not going to be a way to do it wrong, because it was you, inside of me.” He reached to touch Fingon’s arm gently, wanting to ensure the last of his comment was understood as not meant for Glorfindel.

Fingon rubbed the back of his neck and sunk lower so that he was sitting on his calves.  He reached for Erestor’s hand and lifted it to his lips to brush a kiss over Erestor’s fingers.  “At least I did not hurt myself this time. I really badly wanted to...I still want to, but I am trying really hard to fight those feelings.  That has to be progress of some sort.” He sighed deeply. “I am sorry.”

“It is,” Erestor said with full sincerity. “It truly is, love. Won’t you come and lie between us?”

Still dressed, Fingon pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside.  He crawled between his lovers, pants still on, and rolled onto his back. “I am really sorry,” he said again.

“Sweetheart, it is alright,” Glorfindel reassured, stroking his arm and chest. “I love you. You saw so many instances of my emotional weakness, and not once did you ever hold them against me. You patiently built me up when I had no self-esteem left. I want to do the same for you. All you have to do is let me. I want to help, more than anything.”

Erestor nodded. “You were so gentle with me at the lowest point in my life,” he echoed. “I am humbled that in some small way I can offer you my support in return.”

As each opined, Fingon listened and nodded, but spoke no words.  He traced his fingers over each of them--cheekbones, fingers, chins, elbows--and listened.  When they were done, he nodded once more, and his hands drifted back down, arms resting at his sides.

“If you want to talk more about what you are feeling, we are here,” Glorfindel said, lowering himself to snuggle against Fingon. “If you want to rest, still we are here.” An arm draped possessively but loosely over the bottom of his rib cage, lightly moving the soft skin above his wrist over the curve of the sculpted belly.

“If I talk, it will end in tears and apologies,” mumbled Fingon.  “If we rest, it will just manifest in my mind.” He turned his head to nuzzle at Glorfindel’s cheek.  “This was supposed to be a nice evening. Maybe I can try to salvage some of it.”

“You could let us make love to you,” Erestor offered. “It is still nice, and it is still evening. The only thing to salvage is that you are having bad feelings about yourself we do not share but wish to heal. Maybe you could accept the gift of pleasure from your husbands, with no expectations or recriminations concerning the results? It does not matter if you do not become aroused. It does not matter if you climax. All we want is the chance to create pleasant sensations in your body, with no particular goal in mind. May we?”

Fingon answered by sliding his hand behind Erestor’s head and bringing him close enough to kiss as he had before.  Then, he turned to Glorfindel and did the same, tongue lingering before he rested his head back onto the pillow. He was far more hesitant that usual, but it was clear that he wished to remain close to them.  He swallowed and nodded.

Erestor and Glorfindel silently exchanged ideas, and formulated a plan. Glorfindel pulled Fingon toward him, aided him out of his pants, and began with kisses while Erestor made good use of  the bare bottom facing him. He spread well-oiled fingers around Fingon’s posterior, slowly and aimlessly massaging, gently probing, circling, caressing--whatever came to mind. Erestor’s eyes closed as he sought to share in the experience of his lovers kissing, knowing how much Fingon enjoyed just that alone.

Finally, the silken mane Glorfindel had been denied enough of earlier was his. Knotting his fingers into the scalp allowed him to tug, knead, lightly scratch and play with abandon, while his lips tasted everything within reach. “Mmm. This hair.” Glorfindel inhaled, relishing the scent. “It really is too much, and I love it.”

Raising one elegant leg, Fingon used his foot to join in with the familiar touches as he used his hands to simply hold onto Glorfindel, almost clinging to him.  He closed his eyes and moaned at the feel of Glorfindel’s hands in his hair, hair typically bound back and restricted from touch. He shivered at the feel of fingers on his scalp, and the movement of his hair.  His senses delighted with every touch, scent, and sound. A soft little moan escaped him, and made him wonder if he had been actively trying to suppress them in all the years they had been together.

Encouraged by the apparent relaxation, Erestor’s clever fingers found their main goal. Laconically he propped himself on his side in a position that allowed him to be quite comfortable, and with a single slender digit began a regimen. Stroke, wait, wait. Stroke, wait, wait. He felt the response to every brush of his finger over the little swelling. For his part, contented emotions in which love outweighed lust by a sound percentage surprised him yet again. Years ago, he never would have been in this frame of mind during sex, and now that he had arrived here it occurred to him that this was another gift. The blessing of knowing what it was to please instead of be pleased. A soft smile graced his face, because...he liked it.

\----

The last note was strummed on the harp and Gildor looked up to Maedhros, who had joined Gildor, Asfaloth, Elrond, and Celebrían in the sitting room.  “Do you want to talk about it?” asked Gildor. Maedhros groaned and lifted his legs onto the couch so that he could stretch out. “Do you need a hug?” continued Gildor.  Maedhros lifted an arm, and Gildor abandoned the harp to join his lover for a snuggle. “You got him back, though. That is quite the accomplishment.”

Maedhros kissed the top of Gildor’s head.  “I have a theory,” he stated. “I was poking him out there, and something dawned on me.”

“Do you… want to share that with the rest of us, or play twenty questions, dear?” asked Gildor when Maedhros did not add anything additional.  He nibbled at Maedhros’ cheek with sound effects to get his attention.

The following commentary Maedhros now directed specifically to Elrond: “When I was ‘reborn’, I was just ‘brought back’.  Most reborn Elves get to return as children; some of us come back as adults. We return, often, just as our body was when we departed.”  He lifted his marred arm as proof. “Fingon was always… Fingon. Slightly odd, watchful, brave, brooding at times, but… when I got back, and found him, I just decided he was different because we were older, time had passed, death happened, and so on.”  Maedhros’ brow was furrowed with concern, and his gaze had never left Elrond. “Fingon sustained a head injury prior to his death.”

Elrond, previously on the edge of his seat to listen, now leaned back and stroked his chin.  He cleared his throat and digested the information. “The sort of injury he had is one which would not be…”  Elrond rubbed his chin with greater thought, and then said, “From all I read about the Fall of Gondolin, Glorfindel died from a broken back.  You, dear Papa, should have reappeared as a pile of ash if what you are describing is what I think you are.”

“I understand that,” Maedhros agreed.  “Whatever kills an Elf has to be negated once they return, or that defeats the purpose.  So, now, analysis. What if Fingon died of either blood loss or being trampled, and--”

“Excuse me,” said Celebrían as she gathered her knitting and stood up.  “I know you need to talk about this, but I cannot listen.”

Asfaloth also began to stand slowly.  “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he worried as he tapped his knuckled together.  “I wanted to leave at ‘Glorfindel’ and ‘broken back’.”

“I apologize,” said Maedhros.  “I should have censored myself a bit more.”

“No, no apologies,” said Celebrían as she stopped to give Maedhros and Gildor a shared hug, and then kiss her husband.  “I think that I am going to take in the air. Asfaloth, would you care to go for a walk?” 

The pair left, and only after the door was heard closing did Maedhros finish his thought.  “What if he continued to fight for his life even after that horrific injury, and what released him from his body was the grotesque aftermath, and the head wound, though unseen, never quite healed somehow?  Or affected him in some way?”

“But...that seems cruel,” frowned Gildor. “I mean what could possibly be gained by not fixing--” his hands clapped over his mouth as he realize what he’d just said. Eyes wide, he looked at his husband in full contrition. “Mae Mae, I am sorry. I did not think before I spoke.” Usually unflappable Gildor seemed genuinely afraid of his mistake.

His fear was unfounded.  Maedhros pulled Gildor closer and kissed at him several times, randomly planting them into his hair and on his ear.  As he did so, he conveyed the thought of,  _ Come now, our first encounter may never have happened if I had both hands. _

“I suppose I would need to study the accounts of the reborn,” said Elrond.  “I would probably need to examine Fingon very thoroughly as well, to see if there is any indication of your theory.”

“There is good news on that front,” revealed Maedhros.  “He agreed to it--the examination, that is.”

“That is good news,” agreed Elrond.

Gildor said nothing in reply, but smiled. Not a sarcastic, impish smile but a genuine one from a loving heart. A tiny nod was the only betrayal that he understood Maedhros. “How would you know, Elrond?” he asked. “I mean...how can you examine his brain while he is still using it? If there is a means please teach me, for this seems outside of my learning.”

“I do not expect that I can know, unless something seems to indicate it.  A phrenological exam is really all that can be done in this case, which could be performed when we examine him.  If there appear to be major deviations, then that could mean a mending of the skull. If the skull is generally smooth with the typical indentations and such, then I would assume that everything had been healed.  This is all speculation, though,” said Elrond.

“He has such terrible and frequent headaches,” added Maedhros.  “Gildor, I know you have been keeping track of him lately in your journals--do you recall how frequent the headaches have been?”

“Frequently enough that I know he has them daily,” answered Gildor.

Elrond resumed the stroking of his chin.  “I am trying to think of how to approach him about this, or if I even should.  Even if we should think it to be true, what course would you suggest? Surely we cannot, as Gildor pointed out, open his skull to ‘fix’ things.  I know some who would bloodlet to balance humors, but this is not the case, and I am not a proponent of holes in skulls, much less anywhere unneeded.  What, then, would be the course of action?”

Maedhros pressed his lips together, but eventually, his shoulders slumped.  “I just feel like I should try to help him. He always helped me. Mostly. When I needed him most.  Sure, you will find some minor physical ailments, but he needs a full examination. Not just physical, but psychological as well.  He will fight us on that.”

“I am the one known for being generally shameless,” Gildor offered. “I am not above using Gildor’s Machinations. I can also beg very prettily, and if that fails, we have our ‘secret weapon’ of Mae Mae.  Fingon has a hard time saying no to you, Maedhros.” Maedhros frowned.

“That may be the case, but what is the end game?” pressed Elrond.  “What is to be done? Is it only to gain an answer? Gildor, the mind is your specialty.  If it is not bleeding, limping, coughing, or otherwise impeding with physical mobility and function, I tend to leave it alone.  If it turns out that his anxiety, headaches, depression, and all else are linked in some way to a physical malady, what can I do to treat it?  It is best left in your hands.” Elrond rubbed his head. “That was why I left Erestor to his vices when I probably should have stepped in and said something.  He was functional. To me, Fingon is functional. Perhaps that sounds harsh, but my specialty is not in the functions of the brain.”

To this Gildor had no reply, and leaned back to consider Elrond’s words. “Well, then, I guess it has just been made apparent to me that I need to work harder on Fingon’s behalf.  Your questions are entirely valid and important to this discussion, and I appreciate being able to consult with you. I think I am perhaps more emotional about all of this than I would be with most patients,” admitted Gildor.  “Know that my concerns all come from a place of love,” he added.

Elrond crossed his arms over his chest and leaned even further back in his chair.  “I would like to know what is going on between the five of you. I am not asking judgmentally; You are all grown men and can do as you like.  I just get the feeling that there is more to what is happening here than just the two of you taking a holiday.”

“It is more than a holiday now,” Gildor admitted, knowing that Maedhros would not take issue with anything said to Elrond. “We are here to remain for the indefinite future. When Mae Mae travels, I will stay here and they will watch me. Perhaps even care for some of my legendary lust, but there are rules all have agreed to respect. I want to help Erri and Fingon. Find a means to earn my keep here. I cannot explain it right but...we need them and they need us. We are more together than apart. It may not last forever but for now it feels necessary. To all of us. Erri was the one who I think wanted it more than anything. I apologized, Elrond. For everything I have ever done to him. I was so terribly wrong. I think that is most of it?” The question was directed to Maedhros, if he wished to add any comment of his own.

Maedhros looked Elrond dead on and said, “Whatever you think is going on is probably exactly what has been going on.”

“Mmm.  Yes, well… whatever works for all of you.”  Elrond went back to stroking his chin. “At least now I understand your motives a little better.”

“No you do not, not if that was any kind of enlightenment,” Maedhros said. “I once loved Fingon. Gildor once loved Glorfindel and hated Erestor with equal measures of passion. We have moved beyond that. All of it. Yes, much goes on of a carnal nature. But underneath, it is not about sex. We all want rather different things, in that way. It is out of love, Elrond. And knowing what it is to suffer, and wanting to do what we can to lift each other up. We have known each other in some cases for all the ages of Arda, and we have all wasted too much time. We all want to do better.” He trailed off, now rubbing his forehead with his hand.

Elrond rubbed his hands together as he listened and though he looked as though he wanted to interrupt, did not.  When the floor was his, he asked, “Does the fact I spent several years in Rivendell married to two women mean nothing, Adar?”

“Shit… slipped my mind,” Maedhros said.  

“You did only find out yesterday,” Elrond replied gently.  “When I say I understand your motives, I mean, I understand your desire for secrecy and discretion, not that I pretend to understand all of your reasons--nor do I need to.  That is between you and your husband and your...lovers, other husbands, whatever it is. There is no place for me to judge, and no one else should, either.”

“Forgive me,” Maedhros said quickly, lowering his eyes. “I should know better than to have said something like that. I am so used to being on the defensive.  Always you were kind and not judging of others in many regards.”

“I have done my fair share of judging and stereotyping,” Elrond said.  “It is something we all do. It helps me to better understand that your concern for Fingon is not simply as a friend or family member, but as part of some closer relationship.”  Elrond pondered this and said, “I could speak to Ereinion. If Fingon will listen to anyone, it would be his son. Perhaps he can get him to agree to a thorough psychological exam.”

“That may be the best course of action,” Maedhros agreed. “I...you must know that though it was only for a matter of days, Fingon was my husband once. I have always loved him in here,” he patted his heart. “But we were not meant to be. I want him to be happy, Elrond. I want to see him whole. If anyone deserves it, it is him.”

“I think everyone deserves happiness, so long as it is not at the expense of the happiness of others,” said Elrond.  “I will speak to Ereinion. It may take some time to get him here, or, to get Fingon back to the mainland.” Elrond calculated something on his fingers, and said, “There is always the family reunion.  We could get them going over their mutual dislike of Indis’ potato salad,” he said with a smirk.

“Always a win,” Maedhros nodded. “Though it might not take that long. To get him to the mainland, I mean. I have to go sooner rather than later, to settle our circumstances. I want Gildor to remain here when I go. I rather hoped to take Fingon with me.”

“I see.  I think I should plan to go as well, for that would allow a healer close at hand, and give me a chance to speak with Ereinion.”  Elrond looked to Gildor. “You are amenable to staying here?”

“I need to.  For now.” Gildor took a deep breath.  “I never really realized how addicted I was to the things I was giving to others.  While there are still some substances which I believe are of great benefit, now that I have gone through the process of withdrawal myself, I cannot imagine what I have sentenced others to.  That said, it is not so plentiful here, and the temptation is not so great. If I go back, I will see friends who would provide it to me, those with whom I would visit and attend parties solely to partake.  I need to stay here, and I honestly need Erestor. I need someone whom I can trust, and who has lived this. I think, he might also appreciate a kindred spirit in that regard.”

“There is no question in my mind that right now, we are meant to be here. But there are still business affairs to sew up, and sure-to-be disappointed family members to inform. For my part, I would welcome your company on this journey, Elrond.” Maedhros did not confess the full reason for that; the failure of his attempted sobriety still weighed heavily on him, especially as he saw the success that Gildor was having.

“It is Celebrían’s desire to stay here for a while,” said Elrond.  “She and Glorfindel are not just cousins, but good friends. She wishes time to catch up, and she is also delighted about the idea of making numerous scarves for Erestor.  So… I believe that we shall have success in your endeavor by staying focused on the matters at hand, and with the promise of a swift as possible return,” hypothesized Elrond.

“As Fingon so often says, ‘so be it,’” conceded Maedhros. “Right now, I would much like to hear more music.”

“For you, anything,” Gildor smiled, bringing the harp back toward his lap.

\---

“Now that you are both relaxed, and...aroused,” remarked Erestor as he drew a finger from Fingon’s throat down to his navel, “I have an idea that I think will be equally beneficial to all of us.”

“What would that be?” Fingon was on his back, propped up a little with some of the cushions.  Erestor loomed over him, and Glorfindel was beside him, playing with his hair and purposely brushing his palm against his ear now and then.  There was no way for Fingon to reciprocate at the moment, for Erestor had used one of their belts to bind Fingon’s wrists behind his back midway through their foreplay.  

“It would be delightful to see what you and Fin have been up to,” Erestor said as he traced his finger around the defined abdominal muscles.  “Of course, while you do that, I should not be idle--and I did just prepare you rather thoroughly to be receptive.”

“Mmmmmm,” Glorfindel moaned, thoroughly interested. “Want.” Then, a moment later, “Ress...you know not to cause him to thrust too hard? I know you probably do but, I, uhm…” His cheeks reddened a little. “Sorry. I am certain everything will be fine.”

“Of course it will,” purred Erestor.  He pulled Fingon up so that he was kneeling, kissed him until they were both moaning, and gave him a smack on the rear.  “You two get started. I will be right back,” promised Erestor before he made a hasty retreat to the stairway.

Still restrained with the belt, Fingon seemed at a momentary loss.  He was painfully erect, and looked to Glorfindel for guidance.

“Slip your feet through, so that your hands are in front of you. Then place your arms around my torso, and ease me down to lie beneath you. I am ready; take me. I long for your touch,” Glorfindel told his lover.

“I could better touch you unbound,” Fingon reasoned, but he followed Glorfindel’s instructions, being swiftly dextrous, and able to easily comply.  Very quickly Fingon had them positioned as Glorfindel requested, and while he was limited by an inability to do much with his hands, he still managed to find his mark, and was falling into an easy rhythm as Erestor returned with his hands behind his own back.

“This paints a pretty picture,” said Erestor as he weaved a path back to them, hands--and whatever he might be holding--hidden from their view.

“Would you release Fingon’s hands?” Glorfindel requested. “Please?”

“Mmm...not just yet,” Erestor said, and this caused Fingon to whimper.  “You seem to be getting along quite well as it is.”

Huffing his impatience, Glorfindel reached up with his free hands to coax Fingon to kiss him. “Love you,” Glorfindel breathed, brushing his lips across Fingon’s as he writhed from enjoyment. “Love feeling you. Love knowing your cock is bur--mmmmmmf.” The passionate monologue advanced no further, for Fingon claimed his mouth in earnest.

Erestor admired the scene a little longer, but soon had circled close and knelt down beside them.  It was now that he revealed what he had been hiding, though only Glorfindel could see it from his angle.  “As mentioned, it would be a shame to waste such preparation,” Erestor said, and he now began to work the end of one of the two phalluses he had brought up with him into Fingon’s slicked passage.

Immediately wide-eyed, Fingon trembled a little, but the intrusion was so different from anything he had previously felt that he reserved his verdict.  As it was pressed in deeper, he panted a little and grunted, and then, as it finally hit its mark, he tipped his head back, eyes closed, and let out a pleasured moan.  Erestor expertly twisted and pressed in just a little deeper, which might have caused Fingon to thrust overly much, except that his bound wrists kept him in check.

Glorfindel twisted his head from side to side, the recipient of nearly maddening enjoyments. Eyes closed, lips parted, skin flushed with a rosy pattern, and torrents of little grunts and moans escaping his throat. “Ress,” he pleaded, not knowing where his other husband was, but wishing to be touched by him as well.

“Now, I was thinking,” said Erestor casually as he worked the phallus in and out slowly, turning it as he saw fit, “this one has a groove in it, so if I push it in just a little deeper, it will stay in place, if you can handle it.  And then, I have this other one,” he said, holding it up so that, again, only Glorfindel could really see it. “If Glorfindel would be so obliging to take my erection into his mouth, then I could release your hands, Fingon, and let you use this other phallus on me.  Unless you think that too complicated,” Erestor teased.

A wheezing sort of sound came from Glorfindel. “Yes. Want.” His arousal twitched at the mere thought.

“What about you, darling?  Do you think you can handle a little more of this?” Erestor whispered into Fingon’s sensitive ear as he twisted the phallus in the opposite direction.

Already riding on waves of pleasure, Fingon nodded slightly, jaw slack.  “I want to try,” he breathed.

With a triumphant grin, Erestor worked the toy in a little deeper, until it nestled snugly following a gasp from Fingon.  “Still good?” he asked, and Fingon gave a shaky nod. “Good boy.” Erestor took a moment to play with his hair, even burying his face into the soft fluffiness.  “You shall be rewarded.” He made quick work of untying the belt, and then placed the other phallus into Fingon’s hand. “Ready for me, Fin?” asked Erestor as he crawled up and began to straddle Glorfindel’s head.

“Yes,” Glorfindel breathed, suckling gently at Erestor’s sac since at the moment it dangled in easy reach. His hand caressed the shapely ass. “Come to me, beautiful.”

Erestor needed little further encouragement, and aligned himself so that he was able to slide his firm penis into Glorfindel’s willing mouth.  He looked over his shoulder at Fingon. “I already lubricated that one, too,” he said by way of invitation.

Keeping his balance with one hand on the mattress, Fingon had the phallus in the other, which he now teased against Erestor’s passage.  He gave a little twist to the left, and then the right, and then as he heard Erestor softly hum, Fingon began to slide the phallus slowly in, and did not stop until all but the end he needed to grip had disappeared.  Instead of twisting it around from side to side, Fingon pushed down slightly, and then with it angled, pulled it out, only to repeat this again and pull it out with it angled upwards the next time.

Glorfindel could not speak, but he hummed his enjoyment to increase Erestor’s experience.  _ I love this. All three of us, together. I carry moments like this in my mind all the rest of the time in between. Thank you for loving me. I feel filled with joy. _

_ As do I,  _ responded Erestor.  Verbally, he traded between calling upon each of his mates, and offering frequent sounds of pleasure and desire.  

As for Fingon, he managed only to nod in agreement.  Too many new sensations bombarded him, and each time he moved within Glorfindel, he could feel the phallus move within him.  It became more and more difficult to concentrate on what he was trying to offer to Erestor, and so once he determined that he could safely do the same to Erestor as had been done to him, he lodged the toy within Erestor.  This gave him a free hand, which he used to stretch his arm and brush over Erestor’s nipples, which Erestor immediately declared to be unfair, but moaned all the same.

Uncertain what to do, Glorfindel worked Erestor’s arousal with increasing intent. Gentle laving and nibbling advanced to hard sucking, dragging his teeth coarsely over the sensitive ridges. Erestor’s groans picked up in tempo, and silently he invited Fingon to release himself whenever he wished. He would gladly provide his husband’s ecstasy. Then he remembered, and tightened himself around Fingon’s length. Practicing at odd moments, he had somewhat better control now over those muscles and he delighted in clenching down to provide his lover with more stimulation.

Responding with the now customary animalistic noise that was something between a howl and a roar, Fingon dug his fingers into Glorfindel’s hips and held his position, embedded fully.  Glorfindel’s internal movements provided more than enough to bring Fingon to his climax, and he bowed his head down to nuzzle against Glorfindel. “Come with me...come with me,” he begged as he could feel the last pulses of heat diminishing from within him.

_ Move,  _ Glorfindel urged, unable to verbalize aloud. _ I am on the edge and I need you, I _ \--

Fingon obliged with a guttural moan, pulsing his shaft against the place he knew stroked Glorfindel’s prostate.   _ You, too, Cupcake,  _ Fingon managed to project to Erestor.  More hands would have been helpful, Fingon realized, but he did what he could manage, stretching to rub the smooth cheek of his face against the cheek of Erestor’s rear, all while stroking Glorfindel inside, knowing the sensation had to be heightened for Glorfindel as fluid still spurted forth from Fingon.

A cry tore from Glorfindel’s throat. The first spasm of his climax caused him to wrap his legs around Fingon’s to pull him in as deeply as possible. His husband’s hot seed filled him while his loins crushed around the heavy shaft, twisting and tightening his body in blinding ecstasy. Ejaculate splashed his chest and belly. Behind closed eyelids, his vision filled with stars. In the midst of so many blissful sensations he could not even say what effect he was having on Erestor. Only a dim awareness settled over his mind; he wanted badly for the pleasure he felt to transfer to his mate. Eagerly he waited for the moment when Erestor would spill into his throat.

Fingon traded silky subtleties for more insistence as he now bit at the rounded flesh before him.  “Come now, Cupcake. Glorfindel wants your sweet cream filling,” he teased, and he twisted the phallus slowly to loosen it, then eased it in and out with greater vigor.

Glorfindel knew that while the phallus would add to Erestor’s happiness, a far more immediate solution existed. Reaching forward, he brushed over the rosy nipples a few times before pinching and tugging on them in earnest. His reward was feeling the organ in his mouth hardening ever so slightly more; his husband would not last more than a few more seconds.

The intimate onslaught from not one but two beautiful husbands caused Erestor to join in their ecstasy.  Several thoaty cries erupted as Erestor’s body did the same. With a final groan of completion, he did his best to roll off to the side so as not to collapse upon Glorfindel, leaving that honor to Fingon, who did indeed sink down, body limp, still embedded slightly within Glorfindel.  Kisses were bestowed upon Glorfindel’s face and mouth, and then Fingon reached out blindly in the direction of Erestor to draw him closer. He spoke no words, but radiated peace.

Glorfindel groaned from happiness, to feel the weight of Fingon’s body pinning him down. One arm wrapped around to gently knead at the flesh of his husband’s back, and the other reached for Erestor. When they were snuggled in a tangle of limbs and dewy skin, all of them exhaled contented sighs. “Whatever befalls us as we walk together, always we will have this,” Glorfindel prophesied. “All this and more.”


	20. Day 20

###  Day 20: Mid-morning

From the hint of light at the edges of the curtains, Fingon guessed it could not be early morning as he would have liked.  He had been left to sleep in, and sleeping in meant deep sleep and deep dreams. As his mind began to clear the haze of imaginary memory brought on by an active mind in slumber, fleeting thoughts of Erestor, wearing flowing yet fitted clothing, kneeling before him, came back to mind.  Fingon let the thoughts dance before closed eyes, and took himself in hand. He was on his side, back to the door, and heard nothing that would lead him to believe anyone else was in the room.

As he attempted to tame the erection he woke to, he added Glorfindel into the picture his mind painted.  Glorfindel stood behind him, massaging his shoulders, nipping at his ears, and Fingon moaned softly. He turned his head so that his pillow muffled further noises.  His whole body began to move as he tightened his grip. It was not his hand in his mind, but Erestor, touching him, with fingers and lips, and tongue as the first droplets eased their way out so that he could slick his head, which in turn caused additional lubrication to issue forth.

As he found a comfortable pace, the scene cleared in his mind.  A few moments later, it was replaced, and there was someone else.  His cheeks burned, but he did not still his movements, and he arched his back as he felt the tingling and warmth in his groin.  With teeth gritted so that he would not cry out, he reached his climax, and immediately felt guilt wash over him. In fear, he lifted himself up slightly, for now he felt he was not alone in the room, and there was Glorfindel, lying beside him, sleepily watching all of his actions.

Raw panic tore through Fingon, and he hastily fought with the sheet wrapped around his leg to wipe off the evidence of his desires.  “That was wrong. I am sorry. I am sorry,” he said shakily, assuming that with his thoughts so unguarded that Glorfindel was aware of what he had been thinking about.

But Glorfindel reached out in confusion, and stroked Fingon’s back.  “No, sweetheart, you need not apologize. You were so very peaceful, else I would have offered to join you.”

With his face buried into the pillow, Fingon began to sob.  “It was wrong. It was so wrong.”

“No, darling, it was not wrong,” Glorfindel soothed, now placing kisses along Fingon’s neck.

“He cannot stay here,” continued Fingon.  “They have to go back.”

“Who?”  Glorfindel moved slightly closer, not wanting to risk the possibility that Fingon might run off.  He slowly eased a leg to twine with Fingon’s. “Elrond?” he guessed.

“Maitimo,” came the shameful answer.  “I cannot be around him. These thoughts are impure and unfair to you and Erestor, and they cannot be here with us.  It is too much for me.”

Glorfindel managed to ease Fingon, who was still crying, into his arms so that the taller ellon was clinging to him.  When kisses and soft touches calmed Fingon down enough for Glorfindel to speak, he said, “I know that we told you how inappropriate it is that you would have desires for others when Erestor and I intend to be true to you.  I think we are all aware of the changes in circumstances over the last few weeks. Something seems to have drawn all five of us together. For me to deny you a happiness, now that I better understand you, would be most cruel.  I like Maedhros. I like him a lot. You previously painted him in a way that made me think he was perhaps no better than Faelion, but...did you do it because you still love him? Were you trying to force him away?”

“I do not know,” whispered Fingon.  “I do not know. I just know he cannot stay here.”

Gently, Glorfindel ran his fingers through Fingon’s mussed hair, detangling strands as he went along.  “I expected to be angry if I found out there was a third person you had such strong feelings for, but what I actually feel is relief and a sort of understanding.  I will not pretend that I have not enjoyed Gildor’s company. Let me ask you this, Káno--if Erestor, Gildor, and I were not here, if it was only you and Maedhros, would you act upon the desires you have?”

Fingon’s jaw trembled and a few more tears ran down his cheeks.  He eased into a different topic. “You should stop calling me that,” he whispered.

“Why?” wondered Glorfindel.  “What would you prefer? I know Maedhros has been calling you Fin and Finya--honestly, we can both be Fin, I do not mind.  Or would you like it to be your full name?”

“None of it,” Fingon said.  “It all sounds like lies now.”

“Then what would you like?” asked Glorfindel again.

Fingon shook his head. “I do not know.”  He sighed heavily. “Eventually, when I am crowned, because I am going to stop pretending my grandfather will not abdicate at some point--he would not have insisted upon the conversation if he planned to stay on the throne forever--my name has been chosen for that.”

“Not Fingon,” assumed Glorfindel when Fingon did not give any additional information.  “Findekáno, then? Or, would it be your mother name, Poldórëo?” 

All the while, Fingon shook his head, but slowed a little on the last name.  “Close. King Astaldo.” He sighed again. “I am not supposed to tell anyone about that.  Only my grandfather, my father, Fëanor, and Maedhros know.”

“Did you choose it?” asked Glorfindel.

“My father did.”

Glorfindel nuzzled Fingon’s neck.  “How do you feel about it?” 

“I want to wake up from this bad dream.”

Holding his husband extra tightly, Glorfindel once more attempted to gain the answer to the question he had.  “What would you like me to call you?”

“I do not know.”  Fingon’s stomach decided to gurgle, and Glorfindel slid a hand down to rub the defined muscles below Fingon’s ribcage.  “Is it late?”

“No idea, my love,” said Glorfindel, kissing Fingon’s neck again.  “I know I am also hungry, and Erestor got up what seems hours ago.”

“I need to clean myself,” realized Fingon.

“We could both use that.  You are not the only one who enjoyed a lazy morning--but with guests expected this afternoon, we should really be in better form by then for them.”

“The party!  Shit, I did it again--promising things, and leaving others to tend to it--”  Fingon attempted to leave the bed quickly, but Glorfindel pulled him back down without much effort.  “Fin, we--”

Glorfindel silenced the protest, capturing Fingon’s lips hungrily over and over until the body beneath him melted into submission.  “We will work on it together. Erestor and Gildor were up early, and they have all sorts of ideas on what they want to do, and how they want to do it.  Food cannot be prepared too early, or it will be cold by the time our new friends arrive. That is where we come in. We most certainly have time to bathe before we take over the kitchen--that is, if Elrond and Maedhros even let us.  They have taken to their own culinary adventures there.”

Hearing his ex-lover’s name caused Fingon to look away guiltily.  “About earlier--”

“You are overly hard on yourself.  We can discuss it more later, but…I think, having met the family we did last night, I have a different perspective on your needs, Ká--um…ummm…”

“You can call me Káno.  You have to call me something, and I feel it is the least…inaccurate?  And Erestor was the one who began to call me that, and you know how fond I am of him.”

“I happen to be quite fond of him as well,” teased Glorfindel.  “Come; let us relax in the water outside, and then we will track down our dark beauty and see what he is up to.”

###  Day 20: Late Morning

“Gildor, you really do not want to do that,” Glorfindel tried to caution. “And I say this as someone who loves and who worships that gorgeous, godlike creature standing next to you, holding a wooden spoon in his hand.”

“I tried to tell him the same thing,” Erestor said, well-used to the assorted humiliations that accompanied his kitchen efforts. “Besides, now we know this is not even me being stupendously incompetent. This is me being utterly incapable on account of some kind of sensory defect. Erestor, the only elf who might eat a manure patty and think it was an unfortunately overcooked and fallen souffle.”

Glorfindel sighed with sympathy and drew him close. “It never mattered to me, love. I feel horrible, so sorry, to know that all this time it really was a...what do we call it, a medical problem?”

“Gildor is the healer,” Erestor mumbled sardonically, though he did not refuse the offered affection. If anything, he leaned close into Glorfindel’s reassurance.

“Perhaps we should discuss this with Elrond,” Gildor noted, expertly flicking a dish towel at a fly which had dared enter the kitchen. “I specialized in not knowing the sum of elven medical treatises, whereas he...I swear that if there was ever an incidence of a given illness or condition happening in all of Arda and someone wrote it down, he would know.” 

“Probably true,” Erestor admitted, unable to maintain his gloomy demeanor with Glorfindel peppering his cheeks and throat with little noisy kisses. “But I still think my cooking the soup is the worst idea ever.”

“And I think he will do just fine,” Gildor asserted stubbornly.

Glorfindel shook his head, becoming suddenly demanding. “Look, can we have a compromise? Gildor, you tell him what to do.  _ Specifically. _ And you stay here with him, no sauntering off to do this or that or pleasure yourself in the privy. You also measure out which herbs and other seasonings he will need, and inform him when to add those. He cannot tell rosemary from ginger; it is unfair to turn him loose and expect a favorable result. Plus, this is for a party; he deserves not to be placed in a position where--”

“Oh  _ FINE _ ,” Gildor groused back irritably, flopping in a kitchen chair. “I did not intend to upend the island. I only wanted to show Erri that I believe in him. And if I may ask, how did you know about the privy? It was only twice, and both times I was very careful to be absolutely quiet.” 

Glorfindel rolled his eyes and declined to answer.

“Besides, Erri has seen me naked.  Many times. I can just take care of business right here and keep an eye on him,” Gildor said challengingly to Glorfindel, who now glared at him.

Erestor broke away from Glorfindel to sit on Gildor’s lap. “It was very kind of you to show me such faith, and more appreciated than you can know. I am still very used to being the whipping post; it has often been my lot to serve in that capacity. Sometimes quite literally. I liked Fin’s idea. Please, can we do that? If you stay with me then I feel I will manage.” Leaning in, he kissed Gildor chastely. “Please?”

A smile played at the corners of Gildor’s mouth. “I am so glad you were still an asshole sometimes, all those years ago. I understand what Findë means, when he says he can deny you nothing. Those eyes of yours, and that face--you are quite the persuasive one, Master Erestor.”

“Does that mean you will do what Fin said?” Erestor probed, his eyes sparkling as he twirled a strand of Gildor’s hair around his finger. 

“Is he always like this?” Gildor asked Glorfindel, while he played with Erestor’s inky locks.

“Mmmm...pretty much,” Glorfindel laughed. “Now come on, you two. I will be nice and help you chop the vegetables. Or make the noodles, tell me which. But then I have to help Káno with some of the other preparations.”

“What other preparations?” Gildor asked, mystified. “I made decorations with the flowers, and even had a few for Asfaloth to eat. The house is clean, the linens aired. We have a menu, and everyone’s favorite garments are laundered. Even the sofa pillows are fluffed.”

“Well,” Glorfindel answered mysteriously. “You know Káno. He quite often has ingenious ideas that he likes to be a surprise.”

Erestor rolled his eyes, but left it alone. “Alright. Carrots. Chop them. Right?”

“Right,” Gildor agreed, shrugging. “Chop chop!”

**

  
  
  
  


###  Day 20: Early Afternoon

Amid the bustle of the afternoon, there was a knock on the door.  Only Celebrían, who was lounging on the couch reading one of the books she had pilfered from the library, heard it.  She chose to answer it in good time--so much time, in fact, that by the time she arrived, a messenger was walking away from the cottage.  He scurried back and handed her a plain envelope before he departed. 

As it was not addressed to anyone, and the messenger had not specified to whom it should be given, Celebrían took it upon herself to open it and find out what news was within.  Her brow knit as she read it through, and she came back inside to gather everyone, walking through the kitchen and the great room, and then outside, where Asfaloth and Glorfindel were tidying up (and making sure there were no ‘Asfaloth Specials’ as the horse was now referring to piles of manure dropped in excitement).  “I need everyone’s attention, and I do not expect any long faces when I give you this news,” she said, twice glancing at Fingon and Gildor.

“They cancelled,” guessed Fingon before the letter could be read.

“They have,” confirmed Celebrían.  “With so many members of their household, they forgot that they already had a prior commitment.  They send their deepest apologies, and would like very much to offer an opportunity for everyone here to come to their home at some point in the future to have a meal with them.”

It was obvious from Fingon’s posture that he was the most disappointed with this development, and it was Asfaloth who offered comfort first.  “Do not be sad,” said the horse as he stepped up to Fingon and squished him into a hug. “We can still have a party on our own.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Gildor.  “There is no reason the preparations need to go to waste.  In fact, this way, we do not have to be in entertaining mode.”

Fingon nodded his head against Asfaloth’s chest.  “Sure,” he voiced softly.

Celebrían approached Fingon, who now had his arms wrapped around himself.  “I am really sorry that I had to deliver such news,” she said softly. She touched his shoulder and squeezed it a few times.  “It took a lot of energy today to prepare yourself for having all of these...well, strangers over, and now you feel...hurt? Betrayed?  Maybe a little of both? Unimportant?”

“Like I wasted my time,” he muttered with his eyes down on the ground, and Erestor reached out to grasp Glorfindel’s hand.  The pair exchanged a look of enlightened uncertainty. Glorfindel bit his lip, wanting to try to coax more, but also knowing that interference might cause Fingon to shut down suddenly.

“Think of it as practice,” Celebrían said soothingly.  Fingon’s head bobbed up and down, but his eyes still stayed focused on the ground.  “It still hurts, though, and I am sorry for that,” she whispered, and Fingon looked up at her, and nodded, chin trembling.  “Come here, hon. I know you feel embarrassed, but there is no reason to feel that way. Come here,” she insisted, and he suddenly clung to her and sobbed against her shoulder.

“It gets so hard,” he sniffled.  

“I know.  I know.” Celebrían nestled Fingon close and stroked his hair as he cried out his emotion.  

The others tried not to look too awkward as they refocused their attention on the decorations that still needed to be hung from the trees and the stray leaves and debris that had been raked into small piles in the yard.  “Can we help you with something?” Gildor asked Glorfindel on behalf of himself and Maedhros.

“Uhm...sure.  Yes. Uhm…” Glorfindel shifted his gaze to Fingon, and then back to Gildor.

“Let me show you where we left off,” offered Asfaloth, and he showed Gildor and Maedhros what needed to be done next.  Elrond followed as well after a pat on Glorfindel’s shoulder as he passed by.

Now as Erestor and Glorfindel stood a little ways off from Celebrían and Fingon, Erestor made the decision to kiss Glorfindel’s cheek and tell him, “He is going to need you.  I am going to go and help the others. I think we can still salvage this. I know we can. He--oh, you better go over there,” said Erestor as he noted Celebrían motioning nearby.

Glorfindel turned his head and saw that not only was she beckoning with one hand, but was also pointing to him repeatedly.  Glorfindel jogged over and slowed as he reached Celebrían and Fingon. “How is he...uhm…” Glorfindel paused when Celebrían shook her head and made an indication that Glorfindel should address Fingon instead.  “Sweetie? How are you doing?”

Fingon, who seemed exhausted as he lifted his head, wiped his nose with the back of his hand.  “I did not mean for this to happen,” he said remorsefully. 

“I know,” Glorfindel said.  “But I want you to know that I do not love you less for it happening, or think less of you for it.  I wish I knew how to make it not happen, or how to make it easier for you. You would tell me if there was something I could do for you?  Please?”

Slowly, Fingon nodded.  “I will try,” he said quietly.  With a little nudge from Celebrían, he reached out for Glorfindel, and soon was being held by Glorfindel instead.  “I feel so dumb,” he said.

“Why, honey?” asked Glorfindel, suddenly recalling something he had been told to do.

“Because I just broke down in front of everyone for no reason.”

Glorfindel licked his lips and softly coaxed, “Why?”

Fingon mulled the question over.  “Because something is very wrong with me.”

Glorfindel chewed his lip and looked over Fingon’s shoulder to Celebrían.  She nodded with encouragement, and he asked in a fainter voice, “Why?”

Fingon blinked.  He felt spent, and at the same time, as if the emotional overload could strike again unbidden.  It was as if he was standing in the eye of a storm that was swirling around him. At the moment, however, there was clarity, and he blinked again as he tilted his head to the side and reflected on the question he had been asked.  “Because…”

Celebrían touched his shoulder again.  “Go on,” she encouraged.

A slow look over his shoulder confirmed for him that Celebrían was there and no one else.  Fingon looked back to Glorfindel again and said, “Because...I…” He took a deep breath and fought for the words.  “I was told I had to act certain ways. I have to force myself to do things sometimes when all I want to do is stay in bed and be a coward.”

“Why?” Glorfindel clenched his teeth, hoping he had not gone too far.

Fingon trembled in his arms.  “Be-because I fear someone--because I think it might happen again, and if I hide away, I can be safe.  And that just ruins everything. It makes me...paranoid about other things. I just want to be safe.”

“Safe from what?” asked Glorfindel, even though he was fairly certain of the answer.

“Safe from it happening again.  Safe from him.” Fingon swallowed hard.  “From the abuse. I was abused,” he said in half-concealed syllables.  “Things I...things I did not want done to me,” he trailed off.

“And you are safe now, but safe does not mean healed.  Safe means you have a chance to heal, but the wound needs to be cleansed,” Celebrían said, and tears sparkled in Fingon’s eyes once more.  “Do you know why you can say this to us?” she asked, and Fingon shook his head. “The three of us have survived the same sort of tragedy. The difference with Glorfindel and I is that we were both grown when it happened.  We can look back and recognize that it was not our fault. We know it was not deserved. Even if we both still struggle to thrive after the abuse, we know that we can overcome it. You, my dear, are still trapped there in your mind--trapped as a young man...no, as a child.  You were so young--and you had to endure that. Do I recall correctly?”

Tears were streaming down Fingon’s cheeks as he nodded.  Celebrían placed her hands on his cheeks and said to him, “We cannot change our past, but we have control of our future.  It is hard to believe that we have such a loving Father, who is supposed to take care of us, and that He could let these things happen--but we have to remember, He also gave us free will, and if He controlled everything, we would be but puppets on strings.  We need to believe that He knows of our hurts and He takes special care of those such as us and sees to our happiness in order to heal those hurts.” Celebrían kissed Fingon’s forehead.

“Sweetie, maybe you and I could sit somewhere quiet for awhile? Perhaps the library, or the roof? I want you to have some time without having to think about anything to do with preparing for later.” Glorfindel pressed his lips against the edge of Fingon’s jaw, once again up on his toes. The past days he had been diligently (and secretly) packing his footwear with lint, a little at a time, to form a base of support for his toes to be briefly en pointe. The position could not be maintained for long, but the reinforcement along with the ability to hold Fingon’s waist had made this activity so much easier. He would just have to remember to ask the leather worker to do something about the toes of his boots so that he did not wear them out unduly.

“Maybe we could go out into the woods,” said Fingon.  “I want to stay outside.”

“Then that is where we shall go,” Glorfindel told him, grasping his hand firmly. A series of requests relayed by thought resulted in Asfaloth hopscotching past and delivering a saddle blanket, should they wish to sit somewhere together comfortably. Glorfindel led Fingon into the trees, but he encouraged his husband to direct their steps thereafter.

Fingon took them just off of the path, to the spot where all of the trees grew oddly in harmony.  “This has to be an improvement to running away from my demons. From running away from all of you.”  He selected a tall oak and leaned his back against it. It was tilted slightly, which allowed Fingon to let the tree support all of his weight as he looked up into the branches overhead.  “I wish I could have you tell me it is all going to be alright some day,” said Fingon.

“But it is, Káno.” Once again up on his toes, Glorfindel found that Fingon’s posture gave him the ability to reach the coveted lips. “I know it will be. I cannot explain, but I can feel it in my heart. It is because they came to us. Honey, I am so proud of you. You feel embarrassed or diminished for revealing your pain to others, but I see only your strength. When...when you allow yourself those moments I know that I can also. It allows us to know how you need us to help you, and that you will allow yourself to receive our help.  I love you.” The wide-eyed expression held only sincerity and adoration; no artifice was possible. 

As Fingon brushed the back of his hand over Glorfindel’s cheek, he leaned in to kiss his husband again.  Then he placed his arms around Glorfindel and held him tightly. Several more kisses were placed on Glorfindel’s neck and cheeks.  “He used to find ways to get me alone in situations that seemed normal. He would rig equipment so that when I used it I would falter and he would blame it on me needing more practice.  Then he would lock the doors after everyone else left.” Fingon coughed inadvertently. “The first time he...shoved his...you know...in my mouth...I coughed and gagged on it and pulled away.  He ended up coming all over my uniform.” Fingon squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head, and held Glorfindel tighter. “Then he…” Fingon took a few deep breaths. “He made me hang from the high bar, for over an hour, and he beat me.  He knew exactly where to hit me so that it hurt, but it left no marks and I could still compete, and he told me I had to swallow it all from then on or he was going to break my legs and I would never compete again.” Only now did Fingon realize just how tightly he was holding Glorfindel, and he loosened his grasp.

“Oh my love…” Glorfindel seethed inwardly, and sought to calm his trembling. The involuntary response was not from fear but wrath that burnt white hot--he barely knew how to govern it. Volatile thoughts raced to and fro, ranging from how he would extract the name of this ellon to what he would do once he had it. But none of that would help Fingon right now. He sought deep breaths, the same kind Gildor had taught him in order to regulate his painful emotions. Wanting to cry and rage and--suddenly he stilled. He knew what to do, for the very thing had been done for him. Recalled to mind were the words Fingon had spoken when he feared to ever face Faelion again. “Nothing and no one like that will ever hurt you again. I slew a demon of Morgoth and I would do the same to any who ever tried to harm you in this manner again. I am so sorry, but I swear to you it never will happen again.” Folding Fingon tighter into his arms, he wished for once that he was a bigger person, so that he could seem more physically reassuring.

Fingon tried to speak, but another subliminally influenced cough erupted.  “Sorry,” he gasped in the midst of his coughing fit. It was as if he was purging himself of something from ages past, but was unable to.  After a full minute, he managed to gain some control again, and nuzzled the crook of Glorfindel’s neck. Now that the memories were flooding back, he felt the need to describe them, in hopes that something about doing so would give him peace in some way.  “His favorite was to have me straddle the pommel horse. Naked. He would circle around and judge me on how I...pleasured myself. Sometimes he would pull my head back by my hair and come in my mouth, and sometimes he would sit behind me and rub against me.  He always told me if I told anyone, he would make sure I could never compete again. Somehow, I believed him. And that is why I never asked for us to have a pommel horse here for me to practice on. Every time I thought about telling someone, all I could think was that no one would believe me, and it would just mean an end to my career and that he would find someone else to torture, and so I endured it.”

“You were so brave, sweetie. So brave to be willing to trust us with the act of physical love after what was done to you. I ask your forgiveness if I have ever made you uncomfortable or done anything to remind you of this abuse. I can understand why you did not tell us sooner, and I am in awe of your courage in telling me now.” As he spoke Glorfindel forced himself to look Fingon in the eye, to speak to his spirit and not at him. Not breaking down into tears himself was very, very difficult, but this was a chance to do what he had said he wanted to--be strong for Fingon. Over and over, he reminded himself of especially that.

“There is nothing to be forgiven. You have made me feel special and wanted.  Sometimes, I still feel used and discarded. You know that he rid himself of me when an injury took me out of competition temporarily.  I was no longer a model of perfection for him, and he found someone else. Like that.” Fingon snapped his fingers. “I bet the ink was not even dry on my discharge papers before he had his hands on some other poor athlete.”  Fingon coughed again. “I know that it meant nothing. I know I was just an object for him. Still, there is a small part of me that thinks, if only I had been just a little better, and not been injured, I would not have been shuffled aside.”

“Honey, no. This had nothing to do with you. You were treated horribly by a person who wanted to have power over you. To use you as an object, giving you as much regard as a worn item of clothing. That ellon--whoever he is--is a criminal of the worst kind. He took your deepest sense of self when you were not even grown and trampled it under his feet. There are not enough punishments for what he has taken from you, but he will take nothing else. You survived, Káno. With all your greatness intact. I wish I knew what to say to convince that small part of you that your worth does not lie in your physical form but here--” Glorfindel tapped his fingers over Fingon’ heart. “And here.” The hand traveled up to gently touch the side of his head.

With his hands resting at Glofindel’s waist, Fingon bowed his head.  “I thank Eru for you, and for Erestor. I wish I had better words. I am trying not to think of him and not to think of the things he did, but I keep glimpsing in my mind of things I have tried so hard to forget.  I hope that Celebrían is right, and that I need to cleanse these wounds and chase off the memories.”

“I think she is,” Glorfindel said, stroking Fingon’s head. “I know that when I told you both what had been done to me--the memories still hurt but not like before. They…” He frowned, unsure how to express his thought. “I think what I mean is, they lost their strength but kept their form. Their power to hurt me. Knowing you would keep me safe and that you and Erestor loved me, wanted me...nothing Fae-- him, nothing he did could make me afraid like it had before.”

Fingon closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.  His hands were trembling as he opened his eyes again and looked at Glorfindel.  “Opelëon. I do not know if he still goes by that name, but, that was...who he was.”  Almost immediately after, Fingon winced and rubbed his head.

“If I told you I wanted to look for him and make him pay, how would that make you feel?” Glorfindel asked carefully.

“We are supposed to forgive.  That is what I have been taught and what I believe.  However…” Fingon rubbed his head. “I fear he could still prey on youth.  I already feel terrible for not seeking him out myself in all this time. Actually, for not doing a better job of finding him.  Not all of my letters to the gymnastics council were about trying to reinstate me. Some of them were inquiries about his potential whereabouts.  I have no leads.”

“I will never act in a manner that you would disapprove,” Glorfindel began. “I, too, honor forgiving. It is why I forgave my father. But I believe there is a rule--the individual has to repent of their sin. Express remorse. I feel no obligation to forgive one who continues in their shortcomings--or in this case, crimes. I would like to try to look, because of what you said. If others still are being abused I feel it is a moral duty to intervene.” On seeing Fingon’s eyes cast downward, he poked his finger sharply into the muscular chest. “Beloved, I said ‘I’ not ‘we’ or ‘you.’ I do not believe you should be the one to do this. Just as Erestor should not have been the one to find out about the clinic, and I should not be the one who causes Faelion to have some unimaginably humiliating downfall someday. I only ask you to please consider this.”

There was relief in Fingon’s expression, and something akin to a revelation.  “I will fight your demon if you fight mine,” said Fingon. “The thought of putting Faelion in his place, after all he did to you and to Erestor, is more appealing than it should be.  Hearing the words from you, perhaps it has been for the best that I did not find more information. Otherwise, had I found him, I think I would have gone after him myself.”

Snorting, Glorfindel laughed in spite of himself. “We trade ugly fiery whippy things and beat each other’s up? I like that. If only I still had my original sword,” he sighed. “Alas. I do not ask you to give Faelion what he deserves, for I truly believe that what evildoers work eventually makes its way back. He will have a downfall, sooner or later. But your torturer...the idea of another young one, forced to lose his innocence for the gratification of another--that is worthy of Morgoth himself. To even know another elf is capable of such twisted acts--I have to wonder if he really was not an orc. Eh, listen to me. I should not ramble on and on. Not when I want to just stand here and have you know how proud I am of you, and how grateful this short but pretty man is to have your love.” 

As the tree continued to provide support, Fingon kissed Glorfindel--first on the brow, then the cheek, and finally on his iips.  This last kiss lingered, and was repeated, and a third time bestowed, and Fingon’s lips brushed over Glorfindel’s as he spoke. “How long do you think we have until someone comes looking for us?  I am sure I should be embarrassed for such a thought, but the idea that I do not need to seek him out alone, that you are going to...avenge me, so to speak...brings peace and…” Fingon doubted he had to spell out for Glorfindel the reaction the discussion had on his body.

“Just like I should be embarrassed at having to admit that I am wet from my desire for you?” The colorful eyes gazed up shyly, but with a smile. “I want you badly, but I did not want to…” He lowered one hand, to lightly brush against the front of Fingon’s trousers in the hopes of what he might find.

A grunt escaped as Fingon felt the ghosting fingertips over his awakening erection.  “I want more than I should ask for,” he mumbled as he reached one hand behind to squeeze Glorfindel’s rear.  “I have a great desire to fill you, but I have an equal need for you to make love to me. I want to feel you in such a way that it reminds me of the beauty of our union.”

“Then my only question is how you wish to be taken,” Glorfindel answered with a throaty voice, as hopeful hands began to quest across Fingon’s chest, then down and around to knead at the firm muscle inside of his thighs.

“I want to see--no, I need to see you.  Your face. I…” Fingon closed his eyes and trembled for a moment.  “I do not want to talk about my demon anymore, but you need to know that too often I could not see his face.  I need to be able to see you.”

Once again, Glorfindel had to swallow down his anger and show strength for Fingon’s sake.  “You shall have it, love. May I remove your clothing?” Glorfindel wanted to know.

“Please,” answered Fingon.  His hands were shaky as he ran them along Glorfindel’s arms.  “May I do the same?” he asked.

“Yes, please.” Leaning up, Glorfindel sought a kiss before he began. “I need to be sure about one thing, love. The first time you invited Erestor into your body, you did not wish to be on your back with your knees raised. Yet that is the only means by which to fulfill your wish that I know of, unless I pleasure you with my fingers or my mouth. I very much want to satisfy you.” In emphasis, Glorfindel again stroked Fingon’s length through his clothing.

Something of a groaning purr issued forth, and Fingon pushed his hips forward.  “So much has changed,” he gasped. “I trust you. I…” Fingon groaned again. “This is going to sound so stupid when I say it,” he worried.

“Hmmm,” Glorfindel rubbed more, before loosening the ties on the trousers before deftly slipping open the closures on his tunic. “I shall be the judge of that.” He ground his groin briefly against Fingon’s, feeling his mate’s arousal grow firmer.

“I have feared being ‘too gay’.”  Fingon turned his head to the side, panting.  “I have had too much concern on what others might think about me.  I want what I want right now… I want you. Husband. Please,” Fingon breathed.

Glorfindel caused Fingon’s pants to fall to his ankles in a single motion, whereupon they were quickly rolled up. Fingon was placed on his back and positioned with a little support from the trousers-turned-bolster. Having nothing which with to lubricate his mate’s passage and refusing to breach him unprepared, Glorfindel’s mouth quickly descended, his tongue pushing and probing at the tight entrance while leaving behind as much saliva as he could manage. His hand lovingly caressed Fingon’s heavy sacs while he worked, marveling that he had been so directly asked to do this. He laved touches and caresses on his mate’s body, afire with the thought of taking him and making love.

It certainly did not seem as if he was being judged harshly.  Fingon tried to figure out how to position his legs, but finally decided to keep them loosely bent, with the thought that Glorfindel would guide him as needed.  One hand massaged the back of Glorfindel’s neck, and the other dug at the ground as the desire built within him. “I may not last long enough to reciprocate,” Fingon warned.  He gasped as Glorfindel’s preparations sent another wave of pleasure through him. 

Realizing he was running out of time and that it would not be possible to stretch his husband enough to avoid pain, Glorfindel caught at Fingon’s large arousal with his lips, controlling the angle of the display so that his face was very much visible to his lover. Then, knowing there was enough lubrication at least for a finger or two, he eased the first digit inside while gently suckling on the impressive erection. Full of happiness to be sampling so many delights, he raised his eyes, hoping they conveyed the love he felt, and his eagerness to please. Also, he studied Fingon for a sign that his choices met with approval.

For Fingon, the experience was thoroughly enjoyable.  His mind, often plagued by several thoughts at once despite the order of his mind was focused on one thing only as he watched Glorfindel, eyes locked.  Just the thought of giving Glorfindel his complete trust was arousing to him. Determined to last longer than just a few minutes, Fingon concentrated on regulating his breathing, which was still punctuated with the occasional gasp.  “Love what you are doing to me,” he managed to convey. “Love you. So good.”

Heartened, the beautiful blond probed deeper with his finger, searching for Fingon’s little spot. A mischievous grin left Glorfindel appearing like a child with an oversized lollipop he was not about to remove from his mouth. After a short time of this teasing, he ventured to try a second finger. While he did not really entertain hope of penetrating Fingon on this occasion, either way he would satisfy his husband.

Fingon’s will to last long enough to feel Glorfindel within him was strong.  He forced himself to breathe at an even pace and kept his gaze focused on Glorfindel.  “You are so good at that,” he commended, a droplet of sweat sliding from his forehead to his ear.  With his hand shaking, Fingon reached out to knead Glorfindel’s shoulder. “You are so good to me.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Breaking away from attending to Fingon’s arousal, Glorfindel lightly kissed the head of his penis. “You have not even begun to experience the many ways I hope to bestow my love on this body. With my flesh I shall worship you for as long as I am granted life.” A fresh emission of pre-ejaculate flowed from Fingon at hearing Glorfindel’s words, and this was transferred to aid in further stretching him.  Fingon had held off longer than Glorfindel originally guessed he would. Relaxing, Glorfindel opened his mind and sought out Fingon’s. Favorable thoughts followed little grunts of pleasure, encouraging Glorfindel to continue his efforts. He could feel his husband’s desire to be penetrated, and at last that was possible. 

With an assuredness born of long experience, Glorfindel claimed the body beneath his. All the while his eyes, lit with a strange light, remained locked with Fingon’s. “I am yours,” he declared. “Feel me. Feel my body, poured out for your desire. Never forget that I will defend you with my life, whether you walk in dreams or wakefulness. The sword of my heart stands guard over your spirit, Findekáno. Cast aside all fear, and find peace in my protection.” Each sentiment he punctuated with a gentle thrust, meant to bring ecstasy through his husband’s core. Hard muscles glistened with dewy moisture as again and again he rolled his hips and sought to bury himself as deeply into his mate as nature allowed. Fingon’s erection, trapped between the two glistening bodies, pushed firmly against Glorfindel’s abdomen until he raised up enough to wrap his fingers around the engorged organ.

“I wish...wish I could always feel like this.”  Fingon’s great flexibility allowed him to bend his legs with ease, and to vary his position.  Sometimes he had a leg over Glorfindel’s shoulder, and other times he managed to wrap a leg around from the side and use his foot to caress Glorfindel’s body.  With his body trembling and on the edge of release, Fingon anchored his hands at Glorfindel’s hips. Although he touched Glorfindel with his hands and feet as he was able, he left all else up to Glorfindel, and rode the waves of pleasure as they began to crash over him.  “Not...not much longer,” he panted. “Feels so good.”

“Well, you could,” Glorfindel teased. “We would not accomplish much else though. I am very happy to be pleasing you...but you had to know that at the end I would do this--” Without warning, Glorfindel pressed against Fingon hard to still provide stimulation to his penis. The hand that was not keeping his body in place reached for Fingon’s ear, delicately tracing the edge of it. Because he could feel his mate’s pleasure, he almost burst himself at this moment but somehow held on, determined that Fingon come first.

“OH!”  Fingon’s back arched, and he dug his fingers in as he thrust up against Glorfindel, clenched his muscles, and tried anything to pull his husband in as far as possible while warm fluid spurted between them.  “I--oh--uhn...I love you,” he managed between gasps for air as his body became limp against the ground.

For just a moment, Glorfindel could not respond while his own body shook with the force of his release, but when the crest of it was over he was quick to assure Fingon of his love. He collapsed on top of his husband, uncaring of the sticky fluid. Just now, he relished it, the sensation and scent of their lovemaking. His sensitive ear heard the thundering heartbeat, and the straining of lungs to fill with air. A sense of deep contentment settled over him, for he had done his best.

Fingon now used his hands to rub Glorfindel’s back, and kissed at the damp golden waves.  “Alright,” he finally admitted once his breathing was calmed. “I think I understand the benefits of the twice a day club.  Are you currently recruiting, or is membership closed?”

“Mmmm,” Glorfindel grunted languidly. “Sweetie, we elected you president during a closed session of the directorial board. Did Ress not tell you? I shall have to spank him.”

With a chuckle and a rare grin, Fingon traced a finger over Glorfindel’s shoulder, down his arm, and to his hand.  He lifted that hand up and kissed at Glorfindel’s fingertips. “You do powerful things to me, Glorfindel. I never thought I could feel this way about someone.  This has been a difficult month. I appreciate you so much, even if I do not show it or say it as much as I ought to.”

“You do not need to, though I confess the romantic in me loves to hear it. I know you have much on your mind, love. I have wanted so badly for you to feel unburdened, able to follow your heart. Always I will be here, and I speak for Erestor in that as well. A great deal of growth is happening, and I do not mean only in the cucumber patch,” he smiled, crawling up a little further to kiss Fingon. “Well. What shall we ever do with this glorious mess? I could clean you up, you know, but it might lead to an encore performance.” He winked, appearing delightfully impish.

“Hmm.  Well, since I am President of the Twice a Day Club, and we only have one under our belts for the day…”

Snickering, Glorfindel moved off to one side, and with deliberate slowness began to use his tongue everywhere he needed to and everywhere he did not. His own sticky abdomen he disregarded. Somewhere, water could be found, but in the meantime, there were more important matters.

  
  
  
  


###  Day 20: Nightfall

  
  


By nightfall there were paper lanterns decorating the trees nearest to the cottage in a variety of colors, lit with little candles and swaying gently.  A bonfire was lit where it would not be a hazard to the crops or the house, and the food was arranged on a table with additional candles to ward away pests.  Three hopeful dogs sat at the end of the table, each with a ridiculous grin.

“I swear I fed them all twice,” said Gildor as he set to uncorking the bottles of wine.

“Silly elf, they cannot tell it is still the same day that you fed them,” teased Maedhros, who was grilling the fish and poultry for their meal.

“I am not so sure, Mae Mae.” Gildor gesticulated with the cork still in his hand, temporarily endangering one of the open bottles on the tabletop. “They are far more devious creatures than you acknowledge. They beg, someone feeds them. That is a successful formula, so why would they not continue to beg? Besides. Have you ever thought about the size of their mouths versus ours? I mean, they can eat in two gulps what we linger over for a good half-hour. How we must torment them, with our roast meats and dainty morsels!”

“If they get hungry enough, there are squirrels aplenty for them to find on their own,” countered Erestor.  He shooed the dogs off from the end of the table and set down a large bowl of cut fruit. 

Celebrían placed a cake frosted with cheerfully colored icing beside the fruit.  “I do hope that your husbands return before too long,” she said as she placed a hand on Erestor’s back to gain his attention.  “Maedhros is nearly done, and it will be dark soon.”

“I get the feeling that they did not go too far,” said Erestor, when in reality, he knew exactly how far they had gone and more or less why on account of keeping in contact via covert peeks into Fingon’s mind.  “I think they will return soon.”

“Who, us?” Glorfindel said, seemingly appearing from thin air.  He had his hand twined with Fingon’s, and Fingon seemed to be using Glorfindel for support in standing.  “Our apologies, for taking a really long walk. But I think Fingon needed the time, so we appreciate your indulgence.”

Erestor’s eyebrows raised. Clearly his talent with obfuscation was rubbing off on Glorfindel.

“Ah!  There you are!”  Gildor set down the corkscrew and approached Fingon, who looked quite relaxed as he leaned against Glorfindel.  “I have it on good authority that as a fellow harper, I might be able to persuade you to play some duets with me this evening.”

“Oh.  It has been some time since I did that, but I could try,” said Fingon.  “Let me retrieve my harp. No doubt it requires some tuning.”

“And I shall bring mine as well!” Gildor and Fingon headed for the house while Erestor sidled up to Glorfindel.

“He looks relaxed,” Erestor commented.  Glorfindel merely smiled. “You look relaxed,” he added.  Glorfindel bit his bottom lip. “I take it you two kissed and made up, so to speak?” asked Erestor.  Glorfindel shrugged and held up three fingers. Erestor lifted a brow and reached out to tap each finger in turn.  “I see,” he said with a smirk of his own. He lowered his voice slightly and said, “I hope the two of you saved a little for me for later.”

“When have I ever said no to you, my raven beauty?” Glorfindel asked with a smirk of his own, booping Erestor’s nose.

“Never, my golden god,” answered Erestor as he rubbed his nose against Glorfindel’s.

Celebrían, who had just delivered a cheesecake to the table, set it down with a grin.  “I wish I had heard more of that kind of talk from the two of you back in Imladris.”

Glorfindel’s face took on a stifled smirk and a faraway gaze, as he whistled nonchalantly while looking everywhere but at Erestor. He could not even feel slightly guilty about his behavior, either, especially as he knew Erestor loved the sight of his dimples.

“M’lady, you have my sincerest apology,” said Erestor as he bowed to her.  “From now on, you shall receive a front row seat to the most sugary sweet displays of affection between the Chief Counselor and Captain of the Guard of Rivendell as often as possible.”  With that, Erestor swept Glorfindel up into his arms, kissed him full on the lips, and said, “You are the Captain of my heart,” and then rubbed their noses together again.

“Ahh, but you are the scholar who inscribes his words upon my soul with the quill of your love,” Glorfindel returned, a little surprised at himself.

“Ah!  That reminds me!”  Erestor set Glorfindel back onto his feet.  “We had a discussion, not long ago, about tattoos.  I want you to come up with something for me. I love your paintings.  I know you can do it. You do not have to rush, but I want you to start thinking of it,” insisted Erestor.

“Ah, tattoos…I remember when you used to have those in Rivendell,” said Celebrían.

“Everything old is new again,” answered Erestor.  He brushed back Glorfindel’s hair from his face. “What do you say?”

“I...really?” Glorfindel felt a flutter in his heart. “I feel honored. Perhaps you can tell me some images or concepts to which you feel connected? Of course I will do that for you.” Taking Erestor’s hand, he kissed the back of it, all smiles.

“You know me better than I know myself sometimes,” replied Erestor.  “I know I have often told you that I hate surprises, but from you, whatever you decide would be a welcome surprise.”

“As you wish, sweetheart,” Glorfindel smiled. “I might have some ideas.”

“Good.  I look forward to it,” Erestor said.  He took hold of Glorfindel’s hand and placed it over his chest.  “Right here,” he said when he had Glorfindel’s hand positioned over his heart.  “That is your canvas.”

“I forgot how much I missed the two of you,” Celebrían said.  She kissed them each on the cheek, and then excused herself to retrieve more food from the kitchen.

Maedhros brought a tray laden with steaming meat to the table.  “I thought I might grill some of the vegetables for you, Tatannen, but I wanted to wait until we were ready to eat because they cool so quickly.  Are you interested? Gildor wanted some, too...has he talked to you at all about that?” wondered Maedhros as he took a look around to see if his mate was in the vicinity.

“That?” Erestor asked, confused. “I am not certain what is meant, but yes I would very much like the grilled vegetables, please.”

“Excellent--because I have it on good authority that there are more than enough vegetables to go around.  Regarding Gildor--he was going to talk to you about your dietary decisions. Since we arrived, he has been impressed at all of the different types of things you grow here.  For some time he has shared with me how much he dislikes eating meat...so he was going to ask you some questions. Anyway, I better get those vegetables on,” Maedhros said.

“Another convert?” Erestor mused softly. “I do not begrudge anyone eating meat. I just personally...cannot. Really, it is an emotional choice for me but...I think it is not a discussion suited to the table. I am just grateful to have food I did not cook placed before me.”

“Now, now,” Glorfindel poked.

“I know,” Erestor chuckled. “I just could not resist. You have to admit, Fin. Even if by some miraculous event I woke tomorrow and became like Káno in the kitchen, I have still managed culinary events that are probably legendary. I feel very confident in saying that I am the only one at this table that has managed to ruin water.”

Glorfindel wanted to contradict so very badly, but it was true. He opened his mouth to speak but ended up frowning. “Well, as long as you know not to run yourself down,” he added, knowing Erestor had won.

“You attention, everyone!  Your attention, please!” It was Gildor, carrying his harp and standing in the doorway, with Fingon behind him, hastily tuning his own harp.  “We invite you to eat, drink, and be merry as we serenade you,” he declared with a dramatic strum across the strings.

Asfaloth clapped his hands loudly and excitedly.  “Are you taking requests?” he shouted. “I want to hear ‘The Stallion on the Mountain’!” 

“And you shall!” called out Gildor, only to turn and hiss at Fingon, “Is that even a song?  Is he making that up, or are we supposed to make it up? Do you know how to play that one?” Fingon nodded with a small smirk, and the pair began to provide musical entertainment.

“Káno has just made my horse very happy,” Glorfindel approved as he watched Asfaloth bob back and forth as he clapped his large hands in time with the music. “I shall have to do something special for him.”

Erestor held up his hand and wiggled four fingers, grinning from ear to ear when Glorfindel blushed pink. “While I was very much looking forward to meeting our new friends, there is a part of me that is delighted it is just us tonight. This is very nice.”

During the first half of the meal, Fingon and Gildor played, and it was Elrond who took up one of the harps and played to give Fingon and Gildor a chance to eat.  After dining, they gathered around the bonfire with wine and dessert, sitting on mats on the ground in small groups--Elrond between Celebrían and Maedhros, Gildor with Erestor and Asfaloth, and Glorfindel leaning contentedly against Fingon.

“Erestor?” called out Celebrían as the sky dimmed and the stars twinkled above.

Erestor, who had been chatting with Gildor and Asfaloth on the benefits of vegetarianism, looked her way.  “Yes, m’lady?” 

“Do you still play fiddle?” she asked.  “I remember fondly how you would play in Imladris, and we would dance to your music.”

In a flash, Erestor was up from the ground and heading for the house.  It was only a few minutes later that he was standing near the fire, tapping his foot and offering a lively tune.  Celebrían and Elrond scrambled to their feet and began to dance nearby. After a few moments, Maedhros stood up and approached Glorfindel and Fingon.  With his hand held out to Fingon, he asked, “May I have this dance?”

“Uh...I do not think we have ever danced before,” Fingon said.

“I know.”  Maedhros continued to reach his hand out.  “I thought you could lead.”

Fingon glanced at Glorfindel, as if looking for permission.

“Go, sweetie, go on! I want to see you in the arms of that beautiful redhead.” The encouragement was genuine, fueled in part by a hope that this would be a feast for his eyes.

As soon as Fingon and Maedhros were positioned, Erestor began to slow his tune to something sweeter.  Asfaloth excused himself to check on the other horses, and Gildor crawled around to sit beside Glorfindel.  “I give it three weeks before we catch those two in a more compromising position together,” he whispered into Glorfindel’s ear.

“How wrong would it be if we talked to Erestor later and took bets on how many days from now?” Glorfindel smiled. “Oh, I cannot believe I even said that. See? Look at the influence you are having on me, Inglorion. But...are they not beautiful together? I am finding the sight quite...erotic.”

“I was thinking ‘sensual’, but I think we are both on the same page,” said Gildor.  “Fingon certainly seems to be in a better place. The only...regret? Reservation? The only part I wish I could be there for that I know I will not be is when the two of them finally get together.  You know that will be quite the sight.”

“You never know,” Glorfindel advised. “I did not expect to be there for when he bonded with Erestor; life is full of surprises. And yet...to have an audience the first time...some things can feel awkward to reveal.” He sighed deeply. “Speaking of which...Gildor, today Káno told me what that bastard coach did to him when he was a youth. In great detail. It was worse than anything I had guessed at. I have a name. Opelëon. I do not know how I shall succeed but it is now my intention to find this ellon, in fear that he is doing to another defenseless child what he did to Fingon so long ago. Would you help me? Even if it is only to give me ideas on how to search?”

Upon hearing the name, Gildor’s face contorted, and he hid it from the others by moving so that he faced Glorfindel.  “Opelëon. I know him,” Gildor said, and he seemed as if he was trying to convince himself of this reality. “At least, if it is the same person...sometimes people reuse names,” he cautioned.  “Rarely,” he added.

“How many gymnastics coaches could possibly also have that name? For that is what I seek, someone who is or was involved in the sport. That is where all of the abuse happened. It was bad, Gildor. Physical and sexual...the word is ‘torture.’  An orc would have struggled to have devised behavior so foul.”

“Holy shit, Finde...sexual torture?  Fuck...I have so many questions right now, and yet, I do not want to know more.  Fuck. I do not know if Opelëon was or is a coach,” admitted Gildor. “I know that the person we bought the dogs from is named Opelëon.  I know where he lives, too, because I went to his home to get them. He is old, though. Very old.”

“I beg you, not to share this with Fingon. This must be my task alone; he is never to have to see that ellon’s face ever again. I knew we were not looking for a youth--Fingon is not exactly a spring chicken. None of us are. I do not know whether to be overjoyed or enraged. I gave my word I would not tear the criminal to pieces, but it will be my duty to find out the truth.”

“If Maedhros and Fingon do travel to the mainland, I can ask Maedhros to snoop around without Fingon knowing and see if he can find out if it is the Opelëon you are trying to find.  I have no intention of telling FIngon anything--I would never have known of any such connection had you not mentioned it now.” Gildor twined his fingers with Glorfindel’s. “Will you punish him yourself, or demand a trial?”

“I cannot answer that without knowing more. Whether there has ever been any repentance. Whether Fingon was the last one--though in my heart, I know the answer to that. I can say with confidence that Opelëon’s actions stole away any chance Fingon ever had to enjoy a normal sex life with those he wished to love. Sex life be damned--he ruined Fingon’s entire life from that point on.  Fingon is healing now but...what was torn from him can never be returned. I have a question in turn, though. How will Mae not want to slaughter this man if he finds out it is indeed him?”

Guiltily, Gildor admitted, “Maybe part of me hopes that Mae Mae will?  He, uh, he has experience…”

“The fact that I do not want to insist you ensure otherwise says a great deal,” Glorfindel fretted. “I feel as though I have taken on the duty to see this through. Abdicating that to another, however tempting, would be dishonorable. Please, I need to be there when you talk to Mae. He and I need to reach an agreement--something--about this. And Erestor does not know about this yet, for we have not had time to speak privately. I wonder if we shall end up needing to draw lots,” he said with uncharacteristic cynicism.

“I think you need to tell Fingon,” Gildor said.  “I would wager he probably has a pretty good idea that once you knew who this asshole is you would go after him.  But I also think we need to know where he stands on it. He is...he is a lot more forgiving than the rest of us, I think,” guessed Gildor.  “At least, he seems to believe in that, for most things. You know he is basically the only kinslayer who admitted guilt, right? He just has a different way of looking at some things. I know that sometimes it can be easier to ask forgiveness than it can be to ask permission, but I think this is a case where you need to talk to him before you and Maedhros make battle plans to chop this son-of-a-bitch’s dick off.”

“That already happened,” Glorfindel told him. “The conversation began with me asking what Fingon would or would not want to happen. You are right; he wants to forgive him. I gave my word to honor that...in the sense of I will not kill him. I equally understand that he very much wants some kind of accountability, some kind of justice for what the child he was suffered. From here on out, I am the one entrusted to ‘go after his demon,’ as he phrased it. I emphasize the word ‘trust.’ I believe he would not have named Opelëon if he had to fear I would kill the ellon. Were it not for the fear that another youth somewhere is being abused as we speak, I believe he would have withheld the information.”

“In that case...you and Maedhros should talk, and sooner rather than later.  Our tickets for the ship returning to the mainland are to be used only a few days from now.  I know Mae Mae means to go back, and if that is the case, if he takes Fingon with him...let me go get him,” insisted Gildor, and he was on his feet immediately.  He smoothed out his clothing, approached Fingon and Maedhros, and tapped his husband on the shoulder. “I think that is enough hogging of Fingon,” Gildor said firmly.  “Let the rest of us dance with him, will you?”

Maedhros chuckled and placed Fingon’s hand upon Gildor’s palm after a kiss to Fingon’s cheek.  “I suppose I can sit this one out,” he said after he gave Gildor a slap on the rear. Maedhros began to walk to the table of desserts, but slowed his steps, and tilted his head.  He looked over his shoulder briefly to lock his gaze with Gildor’s, and then swiftly changed his route to join Glorfindel. “Gildor said it was important,” was all he offered as he sat down next to Glorfindel.

“This has to be quick. Tell Gildor I am taking you to bring out one forgotten dessert from the house so he has something to tell Fingon.” Wrapping his arm around Maedhros’ waist, Glorfindel immediately moved them off toward the house. “Mae, I want your word that with what I am about to tell you, you will work with me and not act on your own. This is about Fingon, and I am honor-bound to do something on his behalf but within certain boundaries.”

Both brows rose up.  Maedhros fidgeted a little, but nodded slightly.  “I tentatively agree,” he said.

“I trust in your honor, Mae,” Glorfindel said adamantly. “If I tell you that this is about the man who raped Fingon repeatedly when he was a youth, does that affect your tentative agreement?”

Luckily for Maedhros, there was a chair nearby, because he stumbled back a step and dropped down onto it.  For several minutes, he let the words sink in, and occasionally wiped at his eyes. “You are sure he was raped?” Maedhros finally asked.

“I will not answer that until I have your word,” Glorfindel said softly. Then realization swept over him. “You...you did not know, did you…” He swallowed hard, imagining what this must feel like. “Forgive me. I thought that...I should have known he never let on to you. Just...fuck.”

“I think you just answered the question.”  Maedhros leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  For several minutes, his body silently shook. The occassional tear escaped and slid down the side of his face. “From how you are wording things, we are not so lucky that this bastard suffered a horrible death and did not return, are we?”

“No,” Glorfindel replied. “Mae, based on how I felt when he finally told me what happened, I am afraid to tell you. I became almost blind with rage. That is why I am asking for your promise, because Fingon does not want him killed and I have given my word to abide by his wishes.”

Maedhros shook his head.  “I am not sure I can make that promise to you, Glorfindel.”  Maedhros squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hand into a fist.  “It better not be someone related to us. I will snap their fucking neck if it is.”

“It is not,” Glorfindel told him, misery washing over him. His plans were disintegrating before they could form. “I...I am sorry. I should not have done this to you when I know that you still love him. I will find a way to carry on alone. I hope you can find it in your heart to pardon me.” With a squeeze to his waist, the blond turned, and began to return to the others.

“Do not fucking leave right now,” growled Maedhros.  He slammed his fist against his own leg. “I made a promise to Fingon years ago.  I told him if he ever told me no or to stop, I would listen. If he wants this sack of shit left alive, so be it, but that is not my desire.”  He looked wearily at Glorfindel. “What do you intend to do to him?”

“I cannot yet say,” Glorfindel answered, stopping. “I must know more. I need to know who else he has harmed, and if he is still harming anyone right now, and whether he has any remorse for his crimes--this all assumes that the correct person has been identified. I do intend to extract some manner of justice, short of killing him. That, and Fingon does not know of what is done and never has to see this man. On that I insist.” 

“I agree that Fingon should never see him again, but you need to offer closure, Glorfindel.  Are you keeping what is done to him from Fingon for Fingon’s sake, or yours?” Maedhros asked.

Glorfindel frowned.  “I did not want it to be on Fingon’s conscience.”

“It is the same as monsters under the bed or in the closet,” advised Maedhros.  “You can tell a child that logically none are there, but I cannot tell you how many times I had to light a candle and show Elrond and Elros that nothing was hiding under the mattress or creeping in the closet.”

Glorfindel sighed.  “You are right. I am caught in the heat of the moment.”  His tone softened, and he took Maedhros’ wrist where his hand was missing. Lifting it to his face, he pressed his lips against the stump. “I will tell you what Fingon told me, if it is your wish to hear it.” Glorfindel held the limb against his cheek, bestowing another kiss, as much for his own comfort as to offer comfort in return.

“Every fucking word,” insisted Maedhros.  “And the name. I want the name of this bastard.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes. “I am trusting you with all that I have.” Taking Maedhros’ hand, he kissed the open palm before speaking. “When Fingon was being coached by this man, he was immediately preyed upon. For everything done, he threatened Fingon with the loss of his ability to have a future in gymnastics if he did not submit and remain silent. He did not tell me how many times these events happened, but my impression was that this degradation went on for a long time. Hundreds of encounters. Fingon was forced to perform fellatio, including swallowing the ejaculations. The man would stimulate himself against Fingon’s backside, especially on the pommel horse. Fingon was forced to masturbate and have the show be suitably appealing to his tormentor. Fingon fully believed he could say nothing or it would mean the ruin of his career.  The coach beat him, tormented him constantly, and when an injury finally took him out of competition, Fingon blamed himself for his inability to remain uninjured. He had some sort of unhealthy attachment to this shithead that made him think he had been a disappointment. All of this has plagued him for two life times.”

“An injury...shit.”  Maedhros hung his head.  “I know when all of this took place, and I was not there to protect him.”  Maedhros swallowed hard and once again took to hitting his hand against his thigh.  “We had a fight. He suddenly kept insisting we keep the lights off when we were intimate.  I lit candles one night after he had fallen asleep, because he was just--different. He would flinch when I touched him at times.  I saw marks on his rump--I questioned him. He said he fell in practice. I told him it looked like a handprint--I thought he was seeing someone else, I thought it was those damned parties he would go to.  He accused me of not trusting him--we parted ways for a while. It was a handprint,” he said with conviction as he looked up at Glorfindel. “It was that monster. Before, I could only guess. Now I know.”

“Mae, this was not your fault, as much as you might wish to make it so. Despite his fears, he should have told someone, but I equally know why he did not. I was made to understand, with Faelion, but that is not the focus of this discussion.” Glorfindel wiped tears that threatened to fall. “Opelëon.”

“Opelëon?  What does he have to--”  And at once all color drained from Maedhros’ face.  “Him?” Maedhros rubbed his hand against his chest as Glorfindel nodded.  “He has been to my house, Glorfindel. I have sat at a table and eaten with him.”  Maedhros shook his head several times. “Shit, he used to come to my grandfather’s house.  He doted on Fingon--he brought presents for him sometimes, kept telling him how much he wanted him on his team when he was younger.  How did we never see this?”

Glorfindel hung his head. “Then it is almost assuredly the same man Gildor knows. I held out some hope that there were two persons with the same name, and now I see that this is not the case. There is no information to collect. I have no choice but to go to the mainland myself.”

“We will go.  You and I. I know that Fingon wants to go to confront his grandmother, but I also think this is not the time for that.  I have been trying to figure out the logistics of my journey. If I take Gildor, I would be taking him back to a place where he has friends who he supplied with drugs, and other friends who gave him drugs, and I am sure there are drugs all over my house.  I have to keep him away from there. Erestor has to stay here because of the farming; his big harvest is coming up. As for Fingon...” Maedhros ran his fingers through his fiery hair. “Glorfindel, you obviously know I still have feelings for him. That is why this is affecting me as it is.  Those same feelings have made me uncertain about being alone with him for an extended period of time, but I know I cannot go to the mainland alone.”

“Oh, Mae...I know you do. I am at peace with that; if you both want each other I welcome it. So does Ress. I understand, though, and I agree. I, too, want to support Gildor. I love him also, just without the need to become one with him. I shall accompany you, if you will.”

“I see.”  Maedhros looked around the kitchen.  “We need to get back, and we need a dessert or Fingon will know something is going on.”

“On it,” Glorfindel smiled. “I knew there was an extra cheesecake kept behind when I suggested it. But first…” He opened his arms to Maedhros in invitation. “Thank you, Mae.”

Maedhros stood up and embraced Glorfindel.  “We will protect him together,” he vowed. “We will right this wrong, for him and all the others affected by this asshole.”

“That is what I want also.” Reaching as best he could, Glorfindel kissed the beautiful cheek. “Now I want to feed Erestor cheesecake.”

Maedhros chewed his lip and then asked, “Do you have some chocolate in here?  I know that Fingon has had a tough day, and he really likes chocolate. You probably know that already.  Did you know he used to eat raw cake batter under the belief that it was not cooked yet so it was not cake yet so it could not make him fat?  He stopped doing that when he realized there were eggs in it. Anyhow...if you have some chocolate, I think he would appreciate that.”

“With Erestor around?” Glorfindel chuckled. “Yes, there is chocolate.” Glorfindel set down the cheesecake and went to the correct cabinet. “Here,” he offered Maedhros a handsome-sized chunk. “You give it to him. I know some things about him, but not like you do. You have all of the experiences and stories we lack.  That is the thing, Mae. You can give him what Erestor and I cannot, and he and I both know it. His well-being is everything to us--and your own matters as well. That is why the three of us understand what must happen when you both are ready.”

Maedhros set the chocolate down on the table so that he could hug Glorfindel again.  “It will be his choice,” said Maedhros firmly. “Thank you. I…” Unable to express with words, Maedhros leaned down and brushed his lips against Glorfindel’s.  “Thank you,” he said again.

“No, thank you. You beautiful, beautiful man. Always I will love you, for loving him.” Returning the light kiss, he took up the cheesecake once more. “To dessert!” Glorfindel exclaimed cheerfully. One would never know the burden he carried in his heart, so well did he dissemble. Threading his way out of the house with Mae following behind, they returned first to the dessert table, where they barely were noticed. There they paused long enough for Glorfindel to begin slicing the cheesecake and plating it out for the others. When he had served everyone, he sat with Erestor. “I have a dark god I have been thinking of feeding morsels of cheesecake to,” he purred, holding a forkful before Erestor’s lips. 

“Mmmm.” Erestor’s dark eyes sparkled from the attention in the firelight.  _ Fin, is everything well? Truly? I have been picking up little images of this and that from Káno… _

Glorfindel lowered his eyes.  _ No, love, it is not. For the first time he confided specifics of the abuse he endured as a youth. There is much I have to tell you. I had only hoped to allow you to enjoy this evening before sharing this burden. _

Erestor leaned forward, taking the morsel. Then he pulled Glorfindel to him, kissing him with lips sweetened by the confection.  _ You have my heart. And my support. Later, I hope you will love me. Share this with me then, while we are joined body and spirit and mind. That will be enough. _

_ Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?  _ Tears threatened to spill over, as they welled in Glorfindel’s eyes. 

_ Yes, but you need not, for it is reflected to me here.  _ Taking Glorfindel’s hand, Erestor laid it over his heart.

Nodding, Glorfindel smiled crookedly, and offered up another forkful of cheesecake.

Meanwhile, as Elrond and Celebrían shared a slice of strawberry torte, lost in their own little world, Maedhros fussed with three slices of cheesecake, topping them with shaved chocolate and brandied cherries.  “This is one of those fancy tableside preparations,” Gildor whispered around Maedhros to Fingon, who was making Maedhros’ task slightly more challenging by stealing every third sliver of chocolate to eat directly.

“I thought they were supposed to engage in conversation while serving,” said Fingon, who now swiped a cherry by its stem and bit into the fruit.

“You two are grown ass men.  Entertain your own selves,” Maedhros told them as he fought with the chocolate block, which seemed increasingly harder to chisel, made more challenging by his inability to firmly hold onto it.

“Oh!  Here,” offered Gildor as he plucked a cherry from the bowl.  “Can you do this?” he asked Fingon as he popped the entire thing into his mouth, and a few moments later, retrieved it.  The stem was now tied in a knot.

“No, but I am going to try.”  Fingon procured a cherry for himself and set to task.  The faces he made were an amusement to all, with the exception of Maedhros, who was still concentrating on the chocolate.

Glorfindel looked at Erestor, and relayed something silently. Rising, he went to Maedhros’ side. “I would be honored if you would allow me to hold that for you.”

With a sigh of defeat, Maedhros held out the chocolate and the knife he was using.  “I have a feeling you can make quicker work of it,” he said hopefully.

Fingon leaned his head on Maedhros’ shoulder to give him a little nuzzle of comfort.  A moment later, he was upright again and waving one hand about. The look of distress on his face caused Maedhros to react and give him a few pats on the back immediately, but it was Gildor who knocked his chair over so that he could come around behind Fingon, get his arms around him, and give two quick thrusts with his fists just under his ribs.  A moment later, the offending cherry flew across the table and landed in someone’s glass of water.

“Sorry,” managed Fingon between coughs as Gildor stood behind him rubbing his back.

“I never thought I would have to say this to anyone other than my own sons,” said Elrond as he pointed at the pair with his fork, “but quit playing with your food.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Gildor for the both of them.

Glorfindel shook his head in dismay, and Erestor giggled. Gildor cleared his throat. “I think we should finish our dessert and clean up. This was a wonderful idea, and I want it to stay that way.”

“Since when are you the responsible one?” Glorfindel teased.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Gildor crossed his arms, arched his neck proudly, and did his best to imitate the Eyebrow of Doom. Immediately Celebrían burst into laughter.

“That is the least intimidating thing I have seen in my entire life,” remarked Elrond, which only made Celebrían laugh harder.  “I would just like to say that I have had a very enjoyable evening. I also want to bring something up while we are all in good spirits, which is the reality of our time here, and that Celebrían and I would love to be able to have an extended vacation, but we also have commitments at home.  I have also promised my services to some of you,” he said, and here he looked at Fingon and Maedhros. “I do not want us to rush at the end.”

“Tomorrow,” suggested Maedhros, and he looked at Fingon, who had finally stopped clearing his throat.  “I hate the waiting. It just makes it worse to put it off.”

“I have to work tomorrow,” Fingon said immediately.

“After work, then,” Maedhros countered.  “After work, and I will make you a chocolate trifle to look forward to for dessert for after dinner tomorrow.”

Fingon drummed his fingers on the table.  “You are very good at bribing me,” he replied.

“What if Erestor and I promise you a special evening after dessert?” Glorfindel purred. “Please, love?” Every ounce of skill he had at deploying his innocent, wide-eyed expression overflowing with hopefulness was brought to bear. Unrepentantly.

With flushed cheeks, Fingon finally relented.  “Alright. Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good boy,” Maedhros said, and he even gave Fingon a pat on the head.  “Now, as a reward, I have prepared for you this delicious boozy cherry chocolate cheesecake.”  Maedhros spooned up a bite of cheesecake and lifted it up for Fingon who rolled his eyes but accepted the delightful mouthful.

Glorfindel smiled contentedly and collected a kiss from Erestor, who heartily approved of his machinations.

Gildor seated himself on Maedhros’ lap and plucked the spoon from his grasp.  “My turn,” he declared as he took a turn feeding cheesecake to Maedhros. 

First to finish dessert were Glorfindel and Erestor, who shared a last glass of wine and conversation with Elrond regarding what sort of medicinal plants he might find growing in the forest behind the cottage.  Celebrian and Asfaloth made plans for riding and sightseeing, as the horse was becoming an adept tour guide to the sights of the island, all of which Celebrian wanted to see in the short time available. When he suggested a midnight ride to the jousts with a detour to take in some of the roving street minstrels in the northern corridor of the tourist district, she and Elrond bid the others a good night and were on their way.

Somehow, somewhere, three small glasses had been procured, and a deep red liquid was in each of them.  “This cordial really compliments the cheesecake,” Gildor said, and it seemed now that Maedhros had given up any attempt at hiding the alcohol he drank.  In fact, it was his flask sitting on the table between them. “Did you want to try some?” he asked of Glorfindel and Erestor, but each shook his head.

Glorfindel nuzzled Erestor’s ear.  “I think it is time,” Glorfindel suggested gently as he watched Maedhros telling some tale to Fingon and Gildor, all while using expressions and gestures that would mistake him for a trained bard.

“I will help you,” Erestor promised, rising. “Thank you for a wonderful evening,” he interrupted, and all eyes fell onto him.  “Everyone worked so hard, and I feel that even with so few the house really came alive tonight. Please, Maedhros, continue--Glorfindel and I are going to tidy up a bit while you three finish.” The two began to collect plates into an empty harvest tote to return to the kitchen; soon enough Glorfindel was washing everything in sudsy warm water while Erestor gathered and stored what little uneaten food could be found.  “So?” prodded Erestor once he had closed the door to the outside.

A dish was lowered back down again.  “It was bad, Ress. Really, really bad.”

Erestor came to wrap his arms around Glorfindel.  “We knew it would be,” he whispered as he held Glorfindel tightly.  “You can tell me details later. What do you intend to do about it?”

“Maedhros and I want to go to the mainland and find him,” Glorfindel said without pause.

“And?”

“Yet to be determined.  With the exception of execution, Fingon did not set parameters.”

“Then let me set one.  Do nothing that you cannot live with,” advised Erestor.  “We have enough guilt in this household already.”

  
  
  



	21. Day 21

###  Early Morning - Day 21

“While our collection is overwhelmingly horticultural in nature, we have within our archives many texts not to be found on the mainland.  Some are due to the sheer number of pages, while others are written in Sarati and we lack the scholars that would be needed to copy them accurately.  There are others deemed too sacred to rewrite,” explained Quennar as he displayed tome after tome to Elrond, who was increasingly impressed with each book he saw.

“What are some of the rarest items you have in the collection?” asked Celebrían, who, while also impressed, did not have equal enthusiasm.  Having spent more years in Valinor than her husband, she had seen even larger collections on the mainland and had previously worked in a few of them.

Quennar motioned for them to follow him to another door, and this led them down a hallway, and from here they went then to a collection of small rooms.  Here, in these clusters, found to be dug into underground salt caves, volumes were tightly packed on meticulously labeled shelves. “These are some of the ancient histories,” he explained.  “Some are in Sarati, while others are the very earliest Tengwar volumes.”

“Might any of them have information on Eärendil the Mariner?” Elrond could not hide the hopefulness in his voice.

“It is rather unlikely, but we can look all the same,” offered Quennar.  Each of the rooms had a door of iron bars blocking visitors, but Quennar had upon him a set of tiny silver keys, and he used these now to unlock two such doors.  “I should think it would be on this shelf, if we find anything.” He pulled several pairs of white cotton gloves from his pockets and handed Elrond and Celebrían each a pair.  “You will forgive me, but I shall have to be the one to retrieve the volumes,” he said. “These are really quite old.”

“Of course,” agreed Elrond.  He entered the room first, then Celebrían, and Quennar at the last, almost in such a stance that he blocked the door so that no one within would be able to run off with anything.  Quennar took the first book from the third shelf and so slowly and carefully opened it to the index. After he silently read through the page, he replaced it on the shelf to retrieve the next one.  “Nothing good?” asked Elrond. 

“Nothing of interest,” Quennar said, and he did the same with the second and third.  With the fourth, and tension mounting, he finally turned it around and held it up to them.  “As you can see, this one is filled with recipes of the Avari as retold by the Teleri.”

“That could be interesting,” Celebrían said as the book was placed on the shelf again.  

“Interesting, but irrelevant to our search,” Quennar said.  The fifth book was also recipes, and the sixth, and by the seventh, Quennar squinted as he reread the listing beside the shelf.  “Oh! Well, then, this is not the right room at all!” He ushered them from the room, locked it neatly, and took them to the second room he had unlocked.  “Here we are. The House of Finwë.”

“Why is the House of Finwë situated next to a room of cookbooks,” mumbled Celebrían to her husband.

“Not even going to ask,” Elrond hissed back.  He smiled as Quennar once again took up the position at the door.  “I look forward to whatever you might be able to show us,” he said with sincerity.

“Master Quennar?”  An interruption came by way of an archival intern and a large box of dusty scrolls.  “So sorry to bother you, but I have someone who arrived with four more boxes just like this one.  He said he borrowed them for a book he was writing, and completely forgot that--”

“Did you leave the room unattended?” asked Quennar suddenly.

“Er...I…”

“So sorry!” called Quennar to Elrond and Celebrían.  “I will be back very soon! Matter of urgency!”

“There are only two urgent things in this world--a full bladder and childbirth,” Celebrían said as soon as Quennar was gone.  Then she noticed, so was her husband. “Elrond?” Celebrían poked her head around the corner of the room. “Elrond! We should wait for him!”

“Oh, please.  He acts as if I am twelve, with sticky maple fingers, and an inability to turn pages slowly.”  Elrond skimmed through the various volumes while Celebrían diligently stood guard at the doorway.  “If I take something with me, do you think Erestor will be able to return it later?” asked Elrond.

Celebrían rejoined him.  “How did we go from look to touch to steal?” she hissed.

Elrond paused, a small dark green book in his hands.  “Have you never ever heard a single story about my great-grandparents on my mother’s side?”

“Fair point,” realized Celebrían.  She suddenly stilled and waved her hand at Elrond.  “He is coming back!” she hissed.

“Here!  Help me hide this!”

“What?  No!” Celebrían waggled a finger.  “You put that back! I am not married to a thief!” 

“I am just borrowing!” Elrond said in return, but he lifted the book to put it back.  That was when a tiny scroll, which had been upright behind the book, fell down into the space where the book had been.

Both Celebrían and Elrond scrambled to move the scroll up again, but this only caused a few of the books to tip.  With a bigger mess to contend with, Celebrían grabbed the scroll and held the books up while Elrond shoved the green volume back in place.

“Sorry about that!” called out Quennar as his footsteps were heard in his approach.  “Hard to find good help!”

Celebrían looked around in vain for a place to shove the scroll, but was at a loss.  Just as the shadow of Quennar appeared outside the door, she shoved the scroll down the front of her dress, tucked between her breasts.

“So,” said Quennar as he blocked the passage once more, “what sort of research did you wish to do today?”

Elrond stood with his lips pulled tightly together and swallowed down any amount of laughter that threatened to burst forth.  “Oh, just curious what sorts of things might be hiding in here.”

Celebrían glared at her husband once Quennar had his back to her.  “Nothing hiding, really,” Quennar said cheerfully as he moved to a shelf, apparently satisfied that Elrond and Celebrían were harmless.  “Shall we start with land ownership records?” 

“That sounds fascinating,” replied Elrond, who rolled his eyes at Celebrían just as soon as Quennar’s back was to him.

  
  


\----

###  Late Morning - Day 21

Gildor found Glorfindel in the greenhouse, carefully tending to some of the lettuces kept indoors to save them from insect and mammal alike, not to mention the all too curious chickens.  “Hello there, Goldilocks,” Gildor greeted, and he came behind Glorfindel to play with his hair. “What are you up to?”

“Indoor farming.”  There was a slow yet steady rain keeping him from harvesting anything outside, and a lack of light made painting difficult.  Glorfindel moved to the next row. “Just like the vegetables outside, leave these untended for too long and expect a problem.  In the case of these lettuces, they will go to seed if left to their own devices.”

“You make that sound ominous,” said Gildor.

“We have others we let grow wild, but these we need to tame to keep the leaves edible.”  Glorfindel motioned with his hand. “I can show you how it is done, and we can make quick work of it together.  Asfaloth was helping me until I realized he was just eating everything he pulled off the plants.” 

“That could be problematic.”  Gildor observed, listened, and was soon standing beside Glorfindel to help him.  “I had an idea,” he said as soon as they were comfortably paced.

“Not sure I have the stamina for what you are suggesting,” Glorfindel answered with a smirk.  “I am still a little weary from last night. I have a lot in my head right now.”

“So do I, darling.”  Gildor took a deep breath.  “I have an idea, but it would mean doubling down, as it were.  Either I will utterly please Maedhros with what I have in mind, or, I will upset him terribly.”

“Oh?”  Glorfindel looked to Gildor with great concern.  “What did you have in mind?” he asked.

Gildor deposited several leaves of lettuce into a bowl before he answered.  “A wedding,” he said softly.

“Oh!  Oh, Gildor, that sounds like a lovely idea!” Glorfindel said with great joy.  “Here?”

Gildor bit his lip and nodded, but refused to make eye contact.  “We only have a few days before he returns, so I need to gather a few things, of course.  I need to find a jeweler--a real one, not the one I found the first time. Perhaps you could come along with me for that.”

“Absolutely!  I know someone who is in that smaller market we went to,” Glorfindel said excitedly.  “We will have enough food, of course, no trouble there. And Erestor--we have Erestor to officiate.”

“Actually, I was thinking...and I mean no disrespect...but I was thinking Elrond,” said Gildor in a timid voice not usually attributed to him.  “I always envisioned...well, this is silly to even say, but I used to daydream when I was out traveling without you, and the nights were long and cold, that if you and I ever...well, I thought Elrond would be the one to lead us through the vows.  I think it would mean a lot for Maedhros if Elrond did it.”

“Oh, of course!  Do not worry another moment over it, Gildor, I am sure that Erestor will be just as pleased as I am and as you will be and Maedhros and--well, I think this is enough of this for the day,” Glorfindel declared.  “We have so many things to prepare!”

“When you told me about the wedding that was on the roof, the one that polygamist family had, it just felt like that was the right place for this,” Gildor said.  “What I want to do is very...ambitious.”

“I learned long ago that ambitious is your word for crazy,” said Glorfindel.

“No, it is my word for insane--I want his family here,” Gildor said firmly.  “They have the means; it is a question of will and...tolerance, shall we say?  No one has managed to get Fëanor and Fingon in the same place at the same time for years.”

“Indis.”  Glorfindel wrinkled his nose.

“No,” Gildor said firmly.  “No one tells Indis. Indis is not his grandmother; she has no reason to be here.  Parents, brothers, sister-in-laws, all of that...the people he would want to have here.  There are others I think should be here, too--oh, and, secret. I want this to be a surprise for him.”

Glorfindel chewed at his lip.  “Is that wise?”

“I have already reached the zone of insanity.  Wise has no room here,” Gildor said. “I can contact all of them through my father.  I...I actually have a list,” Gildor said as he dug into his pocket to retrieve a piece of paper which he now unfolded.  “I think we can manage to do things covertly. I was able to encourage Maedhros to look up a few friends he has who live on the island over the next few days, and if we enlist everyone else to help, most of these things, like decorations, can be hidden in rooms he would never venture into.  We need to keep it secret from Fingon, though,” cautioned Gildor. 

“Because of Fëanor?” guessed Glorfindel.

“Certainly a major factor.”

“I accept this challenge with you,” Glorfindel said as he happily skimmed the list, a menu already coming to mind.  “I promise you, this will be a night you will remember.”

Gildor smiled uneasily.  “One way or another, it will be.”

\---

###  Early Afternoon - Day 21

A knock on the door of Fingon’s office caused him to look up from the paperwork he was hunched over.  “Sir, you have a visitor,” said Harmacullo. “Are you free?”

“He will be for me,” came the voice from outside the doorway.

Fingon smiled at the instant recognition.  “Thank you, Harmacullo. Indeed, he is welcome within.  How are the archives today? Is Elrond keeping your Master Archivist busy?”

Harmacullo laughed as Maedhros walked around him and took a seat at the desk that Erestor typically occupied.  “He is keeping him on his toes, from what I have heard. I was just about to leave for lunch when I encountered Lord Maedhros in the corridor attempting to find either him or you.”

“For the record, given the choice, I choose you,” Maedhros said as he put his feet up on a wooden crate to the side of the desk.

Another smile was offered to Maedhros, and then Fingon said, “I thank you for escorting him here.  I shall not keep you from lunch. Good day to you, Harmacullo.”

“Good day to you both,” offered Harmacullo.  He placed his hand on the knob of the door. “Open or closed?”

“It can stay open,” began Fingon as he was overruled by Maedhros’ firm, “Closed, thank you.”  The door was shut with a small click, and Fingon looked to Maedhros with slight astonishment. “For privacy,” Maedhros quietly said.

“I never shut that door unless I have to,” replied Fingon back, but he made no move to open it again.  Instead, he returned his concentration on the papers before him.

Maedhros shifted the chair closer so that his shoulder now touched Fingon’s.  “Everyone else is going to lunch. Why are you still in your office?”

“I have work to do,” answered Fingon.  “You could go to lunch with Harmacullo.”

“You always have work to do,” stated Maedhros.  “And I do not want to go to lunch with him. I want to go to lunch with you.”

“I honestly need to finish these.  Perhaps we can have something brought up, or eat after,” offered Fingon.  “I thought you were going to call upon some of your friends on the island today.  Did plans change?”

Maedhros picked up and set back down several of the items on Fingon’s desk, and even looked inside of a drawer before he shut it with a sigh.  “Gildor wants me out of the house; sometimes his thoughts are so clear no matter how he tries to hide them from me. I think he wanted some alone-time with your golden husband.  Whatever his motives, I tend to give him whatever he wants, and if that meant pretending to go see imaginary friends on the island, so be it.” He placed his hand over the hand Fingon was not writing with, and when Fingon looked up, said, “Anyhow, it gave me an excuse for some alone-time with you.”

Fingon flitted a glance at Maedhros, then said, “I appreciate the company, though I think you will find this all rather dull.  Schedules, bills of sale, staff lists to update--hardly any fun for you here. I would not be offended if you decided to seek out the archives--in fact, I can have one of my interns walk you there.”

“I do not want to be in the archives.  You could be sitting here classifying different colors of cow snot, and I would still want to stay with you,” said Maedhros, who was now up from the chair.

“Alright.  Suit yourself,” Fingon said.  “I will likely be another hour, but when I do finish, we can...oooh…” Fingon closed his eyes as he felt Maedhros curl his fingers around the back of Fingon’s neck and begin to press fingertips into pressure points that were stiff until the muscles were malleable.  “So much...to do…”

“I agree.  Relax, take a break, have lunch, stop worrying about charts...the list goes on.”  Maedhros worked his right elbow between Fingon’s shoulder blades. “You must already have put in, what, six, seven hours today?  You left the house early,” Maedhros reminded him.

“I guess...a quick lunch…”

“I am taking you to lunch,” Maedhros said firmly.  “Good food, comfortable chairs, excellent company, and I refuse to take no for an answer.”

“Commanding me, are you?” Fingon set the quill aside and looked over his shoulder.  “A bold move.”

“Just remember,” Maedhros said in a teasing tone as he poked Fingon’s nose with his index finger, “I was a king once, too, and years before you were.”

\---

At a tucked-away booth in the back of The Fancy Oliphant, a restaurant known for fast service of Harad-inspired cuisine, Erestor and several of the interns were just receiving their orders for lunch.  “I thought Master Fingon was going to join us,” said Inarata as she moved around the cups of tea so that the plates and bowls were not crowded on the table.

“I asked him twice.  Second time I think he growled as I was leaving,” Nasarion said.  “Who wants to take a vote--he growls, so does that make him either a bear, or a wolf?”

“Cat,” came the word from Erestor’s mouth before he could censor himself.

“And the wise one has spoken, so it must be true.”  Naithol poured more milk into his tea and stirred it.  “You must have a lot of patience if he growls at you like that at home.”  He tapped his spoon twice on the rim of the cup and set it aside. 

“He has his charms,” defended Erestor.  

Naithol snorted.  “Such as…?”

“For one, I can think of several times I would have starved without him around.”  Erestor recounted to his coworkers three different cooking failures he could attribute to himself, including his ability to burn water.  “And that is just one of his many extremely useful and appreciated talents.”

“Wait...rubber eggs.  How, Erestor? How?” Nasarion shook his head.  “You would have to...use something other than water.”

“Funny you should mention that.”  And again, Erestor recounted for them his newly discovered dulled sense of smell, without detailing anything about his true heritage.

“But it is science,” argued Naithol.  “Well, cooking can be art, but, baking is science, and some cooking is science.  Do A, get reaction B. Do C, get reaction D.”

For a moment, the listing of letters triggered thoughts of the descriptions on the paperwork brought from the clinic, and Erestor set his fork down and was silent.  Inarata placed her hand on his arm and gave it a pat. “You are good at so many things! Not everyone is very good with cooking. I like decorating. My mother--she is a wonderful cook!  I am so happy she likes to cook for me!” 

“But I never thought of it that way. Because I assumed I was doomed to be a wretched cook, I looked upon those who had that skill as something akin to one of the Powers. Masters of an alchemy I could never hope to understand. However. The vinegar in our house has no label. Neither does the flavored alcohol, or--” Erestor waved his hand around a little “--anything, really. My partners know those things by smell or other subtle signs. We will not discuss the other liquids and solids that happen to be hopelessly similar in appearance. Do you have any idea how many small jars of “green crushed plant stuff” are on those shelves? Which is all to say, you have me wondering now,” Erestor concluded.

“Alright, so, you have a disability,” stated Nasarion most assuredly.  “Maedhros does, too. In the short time I have known him, there is not a single thing he does not manage to accomplish due to his lack of appendage.”

“Dear Eru, what is he missing?” Naithol asked with a quirk of his brow.

“His hand, you pervert.”  Nasarion flicked an olive from his plate at his subordinate before turning his head to look at Erestor, who was sitting beside him.  “While I do not agree with Naithol on most things, regarding this particular matter, I do. Most of the knowledge you have acquired over the span of your life has come from reading, from everything I know about you.  Is that accurate?”

“Yes,” Erestor answered quietly, tugging a little at his head covering. “Though some things, such as riding and warfare, were taught with...well, I suppose you would have to call them object lessons with a lot of hands-on practicum. Are you telling me there is anything to read? Because I have read so many cookbooks. So many. And I can tell you that they never helped, they only gave me more creative means by which to ruin food.”

“You need a book from the science shelves, not from the culinary shelves,” said Inarata.  “Learn the science first. Measuring, temperatures, mixtures--”

“Science and math,” interrupted Naithol.  “You need a foundation.”

Erestor blinked. “On one hand, it is hard for me to garner enthusiasm for the idea of trying again with failure as a possibility,” he said slowly. “However, you propose an extremely valid means that I definitely have never explored; one that sounds more hopeful than someone literally standing over my shoulder while I am taught--not that it was not appreciated--how to make a simple dinner. I also confess that while I did learn to slice cucumbers and make them into these little sandwiches without anything going amiss, more would be nice. Always, others have to feed me unless I can eat it off a plant from the garden--and I have done that a great deal in my long life.”

“My mother would love to cook for you every night!” announced Inarata happily.

“How many extra chairs does your mother have at her table?” asked Naithol.

“So many! She would happily cook for all of you!”

Nasarion smirked.  “Your mother should open a restaurant,” he suggested.

While Inarata mulled this over, Naithol said, “I bet we can have you cooking something--real cooking, not just putting a sandwich together--in a week.”

Erestor laughed, and shook his head. The idea was almost absurd, but he knew better than to argue against a maybe. “I will remain open to possibilities.” Picking up his fork, he resumed eating, withdrawing a little into his own thoughts.

“Great!  We can start after work!” Naithol nudged Inarata.  “Do you think your mother would let us come to her house and use her kitchen?”

“Of course!” Inarata said with great excitement.  “She would love that!”

Erestor’s head jerked up. They were completely in earnest. “I will come, for a time. But please...while this is a small thing for you, it is something else for me. Please do not push me faster than is comfortable. Choose one food, very simple, for today.”

“Pie,” declared Naithol at the same time Nasarion suggested, “Chicken soup.”

Inarata smacked her hand against her forehead, and then had to readjust her scarf.  “Was the first thing you cooked a pie?” she scolded, a rare moment of frustration being seen.  “And you--chicken soup? Where are we eating?”

“Uh...here?” Nasarion said.

“At a meat-free place.  And why?” she prodded.

“Oh...right.”  Nasarion picked up a piece of flatbread and scooped up some hummus.  “Vegetable soup?”

Inarata shook her head.  “We will do a simple thing.  My mother will know,” she assured Erestor.  “And then she will cook for us. She loves that!”

“Is hummus simple?” Erestor wondered aloud.

“Hummus is good, but for cooking, we should have you make something that needs to be heated up,” said Naithol.

“I said, my mother will know,” Inarata said firmly.  “Now eat! We do not have all day for lunch!”

\---

The sign above the door announced ‘The Shrieking Peacock’ in gaudy, bright pink swirling Tengwar.  The shades were peacock feather print, and all drawn so that no one could see inside the establishment.  Maedhros walked up the stairs, but his companion stayed at the bottom. “Here? Why here?” panicked Fingon.  He took a step back into a puddle from the earlier showers.

Maedhros hurried back down the steps and slid an arm around Fingon’s waist.  “Why not?”

“Well...because…”  Fingon looked up at the indigo facade and the matte gold stairs that Maedhros had just been standing on.  It was just around the corner from the main thoroughfare. In a large planter on the corner were a plethora of feathers, and wandering over and under the fenced-in outdoor area were two dozen peacocks of varying hues.  A handful of guests sat at tiny umbrella-covered tables in the outdoor area sipping from tiny teacups and eating delicate pastries. At first glance, it just seemed like an upscale teashop. At second look, it was obvious that most if not all of the couples at the outdoor tables were comprised of two men, or in some cases, two women.  “Because...this is...one of those places,” Fingon said extremely quietly.

Maedhros lifted a brow.  “And?”

“And...I have never been here before,” Fingon hissed.

“And...all the more reason to try it,” Maedhros said.

“But…”

“What?  Valid reasons only,” Maedhros said in a gentle voice.  Fingon squirmed, and Maedhros asked, “Have Glorfindel or Erestor ever been here?”

“Maybe,” Fingon said.  He sighed. “Yes. Yes, they have.  They told you about this place.” Fingon’s statement received a nod.  “Shit...Maitimo, I--”

“Unless your next words are ‘am not queer’ or ‘do not belong here’, we are going in--and if those are your next words, I know you would be lying,” warned Maedhros as he took hold of Fingon’s hand.

Instead of pulling away, Fingon gripped Maedhros’ hand tighter.  “Now?”

“Right now.”  Maedhros leaned closer and whispered into Fingon’s ear.  “Trust me. Nothing terrible is going to come from you outing yourself to our people.”  He kissed Fingon on the cheek, and this gained more than one smirk of approval from the few people sitting in the outdoor garden.  Maedhros then made his way back up the steps, with Fingon trailing behind, clutching Maedhros’ hand with both of his now.

The door was opened for them from the inside.  “Welcome, cousins!” greeted the hostess. She held out a small menu to each of them and waved her hand into the dining room.  “Indoors or outdoors today?”

“Inside, please.  Do you have any tables by the stage?” asked Maedhros.  

“Of course we do, cousin!  Right this way!” 

Fingon tugged Maedhros back to the door for a moment.  “Why does she keep saying ‘cousins’? She has to stop that!”

“Fingon.  Calm. Down.  It is part of the ambience. She did not literally mean our family connection.”  Maedhros pulled Fingon closer and put his arm back around him. “Seafood is their specialty.  You like seafood, right?”

“Are you bribing me with shrimp?” asked Fingon.

“If it works, I will bribe you with the promise of eating my own underpants.”  Maedhros returned the smile that Fingon gave him. “Please choose the seafood over my underpants.”  

Fingon chuckled and relaxed slightly.  “She is waiting on us,” he said as he caught sight of the hostess turning to look at them.

“Please give this place a chance,” Maedhros said as they cut their way through a casual dining area to reach a darker area with more people, bigger tables, cozier atmosphere, and of course, some live peacocks in a large, long cage along one side of the blue room.  Everything had a blue glow in this room, from the light of the candles to the thick carpeted floor, to the crystals of the chandeliers hanging above each table. A chair was pulled out for Fingon, and he sat down on the plush velvet seat across from where Maedhros was now sitting down.  “So?” asked Maedhros after water had been poured for them and the promise of a few minutes to look over the menu was given.

“It is...not as horrible as I thought it would be,” Fingon admitted as he looked around the room.  Some of the couples here sat very close together, and a few danced to the music provided by the performer on the stage. The pairs in motion were swaying close together, and the general feeling around them was one of romance and openness.  “I do not recognize anyone here,” Fingon added after a minute of looking around the room.

“Mostly tourists, probably.  People who are comfortable with their sexuality sit outside, and people who are still...keeping people in the dark sit in here.”  Maedhros picked up his glass of water and took a sip. “Does that bother you when I say that?” he asked as he saw a flush appear on Fingon’s cheeks.

“Hmm?  Say what?”  Fingon reached for his own water and gulped down a third of it.  “Talking about who is sitting where?”

“Sexuality.  The word sexuality.”

The blush crept down Fingon’s neck.  “No,” he said in a small voice as he looked up at the adjacent chandelier.

Maedhros reached across the table and brushed his fingertips along Fingon’s cheek until he looked back at him.  “Would you care to dance?”

“Now?” He looked at the other couples nearby and back again.  “She has yet to take our order.”

“She will find us.  This is not that big of a room,” Maedhros pointed out.  He stroked his hand over Fingon’s cheek and then smoothly held his palm up over the center of the table.  “Honor me with this dance?”

“You said that to me before,” Fingon recalled in a whispered voice.

“Mmhmm.  Our third ‘date’, in the attic of my parents’ house.  Maglor was practicing harp in his room so loud we could hear it up there.”

“We danced together for hours,” recalled Fingon.  “Long after he stopped playing.”

“I would not mind a reenactment, but I have a feeling you will make me take you back to your library sooner than that.”

“Are we ready to order, cousins?”

Fingon snapped his head up.  “Uh...I…” He looked down at the menu on the table, flipped it to the blank side, and flipped it back again.  “Uh…”

“He will have the shrimp,” said Maedhros.  “Salad, not soup, no dressing. Extra cucumbers.  Baked potato, butter on the side, no sour cream. Do you have beer?”

“We have a strawberry ale, a lemon shandy, and a honey stout,” the server replied.

“Stout, and, lemon for his water.”

“And for you?” asked the server.  She looked down again at Maedhros.  “Or is he going to order for you?”

“The same, without the beer, and I do want sour cream.”

“Anything to drink?”

“Just the water is fine for me, thank you.”  Once the server left, Maedhros propped his elbow on the table and his chin on his stump.  “I hope that was alright for me to do, Finya.”

That was when Fingon noticed it.  “You are not wearing your prosthetic,” he whispered as he reached out to touch Maedhros’ arm.

“No.  I...pulled you out of the closet and left that there.”  Maedhros held out his hand again. “How about that dance, gorgeous?”

Fingon pressed his palm over Maedhros’.  “I have to make sure I get back to work before the library closes.”

“I was expecting that, sooner or later,” Maedhros smiled wistfully. “But...do you not occasionally want more out of life than memos, archival materials, and long hours spent at a job that will never run out of means by which to consume your time? I will not ask often, Finya, for I do understand work and responsibility. I would not ask you for more right now, if I believed in any way that you were shirking your duties. Which is to say, I am asking. For some more of your time. Because…” He sighed and lifted his hand, extending his right arm to hold Fingon’s hand as best as his disability allowed between palm and stump. He struggled, quite a lot, to put his emotions into words. Frowning, he tried to compose the sentence first in his mind. “Because I believed for a very long time that the love we once had was in ashes. Dead. I did so much to help make it that way, but now there is a chance for something else. Even this afternoon, I find I cannot let you go without struggle.”

For a little while, Fingon said nothing.  The performer and song changed on the stage; others kept dancing.  When the music swelled to a point that no one would hear him over the sounds, he said, “It was ashes.  For a long time. But sometimes, ashes are just a dormant phoenix, waiting to rise.” He placed his other hand over Maedhros’ scarred limb and smiled.  “You know I...actually dance pretty well, or so they tell me.”

A rarely seen genuine smile broke over Maedhros face; he rose and offered his arm. “We at least have until the shrimp appears,” he teased.

\---

###  Late Evening - Day 21

Erestor returned home with a mind brimming with information, and feeling generally pleased. Wandering through the house in search of other occupants, he discovered Gildor attempting a really prodigious card tower. “Good evening,” he announced softly. “I am going to very carefully walk and sit on a piece of furniture other than the one you are occupying, so that I do not jostle you. I really have had a most interesting day, but I can keep quiet while you are doing that.” Creeping along, he made good on his words.

“I would love to hear about your interesting day, Erri!  Let me huff and puff and--” Gildor poked the top of his tower and it fluttered down into a pile.  “My attention is yours, sweetheart! Tell me of your magical day!”

“I cannot believe you just did that,” Erestor noted in disbelief. “Though, you certainly have done wonders for my self-esteem at the moment. I, uh, my fellow library inmates brought up the subject of food preparation, which led to my legendary ineptitude. But then they told me that food was science. That there is methodology. And it started me thinking…” he trailed off.

“First, if you and the others working there are inmates, does that make the library a jail, and does that make Fingon the sheriff, and I have this really strange Shire-inspired fantasy fluff in my head and it includes handcuffs and...food is science.  Food is delicious science with a cherry on top. What are you thinking about?” asked Gildor curiously.

“They said they would help me learn,” Erestor answered nervously. “I am very grateful for the effort you have already invested me, but this is different. This is an approach to the subject that might really give me a chance, and one about which I had no idea. So today it was mashed potatoes, and...I did well, Gildor. I actually did well.” To his own surprise, he brushed away a tear that came from a sudden rush of emotion.

“Oh, sweetcakes, I am so happy for you!” Gildor abandoned his ruined card tower and rushed to sit down beside Erestor.  As he offered a hug, he said, “Are these weekly lessons? Daily? What is next?”

“Daily,” Erestor answered, gratefully entering Gildor’s embrace. The hug felt very good, reassuring. “I am not sure what is next. Inarata and her mother are much of the force behind this idea. Today the stipulation was that it be a cooked food, for I had initially suggested hummus. I think tomorrow must be something similar and yet different. They did mention bread, though I do not wish to set my mind on any one thing. Gildor, do you think everyone here will be upset with me if I ask for all the kitchen ingredients to be labelled? At Inarata’s house they are, and it is all the difference in the world since I cannot sense what you all can.”

“You know, I never noticed until you mentioned it.  Maedhros labels them. Well, he and I...huh. Strange, right, he and I have lived together for so long now, and I still had the thought ‘in his house’ just now.  As to your request, no, that seems so reasonable. And multiple people in the household like to organize things, and MaeMae has such beautiful penmanship, I am sure he would write the labels if you would like him to.  Anything that makes him feel useful is a blessing,” Gildor added.

“Oh. I did not think of that,” Erestor admitted. “In many ways I feel like he is far more capable than I.” He displayed a strange, poignant mein, but only for a short time. “I would like that, if Fingon would allow it. I feel as though it is his kitchen. Maybe Maedhros can help there as well, for I notice that Fingon can refuse him nothing.”

“I bet I can get him to let me do it.  In fact, by the time he gets home...however, as long as he and Maedhros are away, I have a bit of news to share with you.”  And Gildor said many of the same things he had spoken to Glorfindel earlier, from the plans of a wedding to the guest list. “I would appreciate it if you kept it private, for now.  Glorfindel know, so of course, there is no worry if you speak to him of it.”

“I...very well,” Erestor conceded, wondering how this had come about so quickly. Did it matter? Surprise weddings could be quite nice, as he recalled. “I am not sure how I can be of help but if there is something, I am willing.”

“Do you think you might want to try to cook something for it? I know that you are just beginning these lessons, and it need not be something extravagant, but I would be delighted to have something you made at the reception,” Gildor said.

If those dark eyes could have fallen out of his head, they would have. “Isn’t that a little soon?” he asked in a very meek voice. “I do not want to ruin your wedding.”

“You are not going to ruin anyone’s wedding.  Promise. What if we just keep this idea between us, and if it works, you can have a big reveal, and if it turns out you are not to that point by then, because it is soon, we both say nothing.  But I think it would be so delightful to have a creation from you at the party.”

“Okay,” Erestor agreed. “I think that is a version I can consider without descending into total panic.” He patted Gildor on the cheek and yawned. “I feel as though I should retire soon. Thank you for listening to me.”

“Of course, darling!  Listening is something I do exceedingly well, contrary to the beliefs of some.  Sleep well,” Gildor added, giving Erestor another hug before the tired librarian turned amateur mashed potato chef climbed the stairs and entered his bedroom.  

As expected, he found Glorfindel there, but he was not asleep as Gildor foretold.  Two candles were lit, and Glorfindel lowered the book in his hand. “I did not know you were closing the library tonight,” Glorfindel said.  His tone was neither sad, nor accusing. “Was Fingon with you?”

Erestor pulled his shirt over his head to delay his response.  While he knew he would get support from Glorfindel, there were times when his blond beauty was known to be a pessimist.  Gildor’s constant optimism fueled him for whatever lesson was to be the next evening, and so Erestor took the opportunity not to respond to the statement in order to answer the question.  “Fingon left at lunch and never returned to the library, but he was seen leaving with Maedhros.” This caused Glorfindel to lift a brow. “I considered reaching out to his mind, but I am trying really hard not to do that with him even if I can.”  The brow lowered. “I am sure they are fine, though--we and Gildor would have felt something if there was something wrong.”

“True.  Is Gildor still downstairs?” asked Glorfindel.

“He is,” confirmed Erestor.

Glorfindel frowned.  “He said he was going to wait a few more minutes and the come up.  That was at least two hours ago after he, Elrond, Celebrían, and I had dessert.  Is he still making card towers?”

“Yes.  Why?”

“He does that when he is nervous about something,” worried Glorfindel.  He began to push the blankets away. “I should go down and sit with him.”

“Let me…”  Erestor set a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder to keep him from extracting himself.  “Let me go and get him,” he offered. “Who knows what Fingon and Maedhros are up to.  They could be home in five minutes or five hours. Gildor should not be resigned to sitting up alone making towers of cards down there.”

“Are you going to bring him up here?” asked Glorfindel.

“Yes,” Erestor said as he opened the door.

“I mean--”

“In here, yes.  Unless you object,” Erestor said.

Glorfindel crooked a finger, and Erestor leaned down.  They kissed, and Glorfindel said, “I always wanted the two of you to be friends, back in Imladris.  Better late than never.”

Erestor kissed Glorfindel again, and then went down to find Gildor exactly where he left him.  “Forget something?” asked Gildor as he looked around to see if Erestor had set something down when he entered the room.

“Yes.”  Erestor came around the table, took the remainder of the deck from Gildor’s hand, and set it on the table.  A moment later, he scooped Gildor up with little protest. “Bedtime,” he said by way of explanation as he made his way carefully back to the stairs.

“If you insist.  Such hospitality in this house,” Gildor teased as he put his arms around Erestor’s neck.  “This is a very good look for you, Erestor. I think all of the house staff should consider the shirtless option.”

“This is special--just for you,” Erestor replied.  “Now, I can tuck you into bed in your own rooms--”

“Oh!  Is there an ‘or’?  I like adventure! Give me the ‘or’ option,” insisted Gildor.

Erestor laughed.  “We aim to please here at the Cottage of Lost Play.”

“Oh, and you do.  You do.” Gildor aided in pushing the door open a little wider when Erestor reached the room at the end of the hall.  “And look! Someone warming the bed, too! I simply must make my reservation for next year before I leave,” said Gildor as Erestor awkwardly maneuvered him over Glorfindel to deposit him in the middle of the bed.

“I thought you were not leaving,” Glorfindel said as he put his spectacles safely away and set the book aside.

“Right--I booked my reservation forever,” Gildor said.

“Not to be the thundercloud that ruins our cheerful banter...but obviously I am going to be.” Glorfindel snorted a little at his own self-assessment. “I think we are all a little nervous about the oliphaunt in the room. I genuinely am not in the mood for sexual gratification, but I very much want the reassurance of both of you, for we have willingly embarked on a vessel with only faith as our compass. No matter what, navigating the shoals of uncertainty is difficult.”

“In a nautical mood, are we?” chuckled Erestor, booping him on the nose. “I declare your analogies entirely worthy and quite poetic, Fin. You are correct, but for my part I do not want a discussion about That. I want hugs and snuggles and the sounds of steady breathing and beating hearts.”

“Fine by me,” Gildor said quite agreeably.  “No Mae Mae; I am still getting used to the idea that I can canoodle about without him physically sitting in a corner.”  He was hastily removing his clothing and tossing it in the general direction of a chair across the room. “I can still sleep in the nude, right?  Or…” Gildor paused with his thumbs anchored to pull down his loincloth. “...is His Majesty going to be upset to find I slept in his bed without my knickers on?”

“His Majesty oft sleeps in the nude himself,” Erestor told Gildor.  “In fact, most of the night clothing he uses began as garments owned by me.”

“He is such a paradox,” Gildor declared as the loincloth was flung across the room as well.  He snuggled into the bed beside Glorfindel before beckoning to Erestor. “Come on in. The water is fine.”

A temporary pang of regret pulsed through Erestor as he was reminded of so many nights in Rivendell when one of the two beautiful blonds before him would beseech him to join them, and all of the rude refusals he made, thinking it a joke and him uninterested.  ‘Better late than never,’ Erestor thought as he slid under the covers and was immediately rewarded with snuggling and kisses, until very quickly, all three drifted into a state of slumber.

\---

They danced, they ate, they danced some more, and they even performed on the stage, for it turned out that all of the singing was done by guests at the restaurant.  Lunch turned to dinner and brought another crowd of hungry diners, and by then Maedhros had convinced Fingon to order another meal and stay until closing, for in the evening there was a singing contest, and Maedhros was quite pleased to win third place.  

Now they were at a table in the mostly empty room, with only a few members of the band lingering to play as everyone finished their late meals and after-dinner drinks.  For all intents and purposes, the establishment was closed, but none of the stragglers were being kicked out--yet.

A pair of elves who were on vacation from the mainland came over to offer congratulations after Maedhros’ performance, and were subsequently invited to join them by the redhead.  Despite Fingon’s covert nonverbal communication to Maedhros about his desire not to have this happen, he was the one now talking the most at the table. They had learned that Illiholmo was a curator for one of the museums in Valmar, and his husband, Laechenn, had been born in MIddle-earth--a artifact hunter who had resided in Caras Galadhon until the end of the Third Age.  The conversation became dominated by Fingon sharing various bits of historical knowledge related to Illiholmo’s works, which was specifically on Valinor in the Second Age, which eventually meandered to territory of telling them about the island. “Until the Fourth Age, this island was mostly a haven for the exiles who returned. A large population from Gondolin--large for what was left from Gondolin--eventually made it here as well.  Farming and woodcraft were the major trades here until about three hundred years ago. A group of Telerin investors bought several large, low-producing farms near the seaport, and they began to build what is now the tourism district that everyone sees when they arrive at the island from the main ports.”

“So different than the mainland,” Maedhros mused in the direction of their guests. “And yet vastly more welcoming. Might I ask what brings you to our little seaside paradise?”

“We spent our honeymoon here seventy-three years ago, and we come back here every year on vacation.  It has a lot of nice little places, like this one, where we can just relax and not have my mother’s friends come ask me how my ‘roommate’ is doing,” said Illiholmo.  “So I take it from your comment that the two of you live here?”

“We do,” Maedhros answered, sympathy in his voice. “I am sorry for the treatment from your family. I think most all of us deal with some aspect of...that. Wait. I should probably clarify. I lived on the mainland until recently. We came here to visit our friends and...many things changed such that we will remain. I like it better here. I do not feel as though I must constantly think in terms of...I suppose ‘defense’ would be as good a word as any. I find that I very much like the greater atmosphere of acceptance.”

“I told you we should move here,” Laechenn sipped his glass of wine as Illiholmo shook his head.  “I know, I know, your position prevents that. Maybe someone just needs to build a museum here, and then we can move here.”  Laechenn patted Illiholmo’s knee. “Your mother and her friends are something else. My family decided not to come over, so I take what I can get--even judgemental in-laws.  Your father is...a little better.”

“My father.”  Illiholmo looked up at one of the chandeliers.  “My father, the man who called down the stairs ‘no butt sex in the foyer’ the first time you came to call upon me in the evening?”

“I thought my response to him was pretty good,” Laechenn said, giving Illiholmo’s knee a squeeze.

“Thank Eru he did not hear you,” Illiholmo said.  Illiholmo rolled his eyes and looked across the table at their new friends.  “He whispered to me, ‘Butt sex in the foyer is so Third Age. Everyone in the Fifth Age enjoys butt sex in the barn on the fifth date.’.” 

“I have a golden tongue,” joked Laechenn.

“He has to meet Gildor,” Maedhros mumbled under his breath, until he saw Fingon’s raised eyebrow and realized what a colossally bad idea that might be.  _ Someone _ always had had excellent hearing. “I mean, that was appallingly rude. And...do museums not sometimes relate to archives which are a bit like libraries?” Lifting his glass quickly, he took another sip of his drink.

Illiholmo frowned.  “I trained as a librarian, but I prefer work in an environment where I have actual history, not just pages of words.  I need to see it...touch it...feel it...you are a pervert,” he accused as he pointed at his husband without looking at him, for Laechenn’s expressions said everything that was on his mind.

“But you still love me, right?” asked Laechenn as he leaned his head on Illiholmo’s shoulder.

With an inflated sigh, Illiholmo turned slightly, cupped Laechenn’s cheek, and kissed him.

Maedhros stared at Fingon, hoping the words he did not say aloud would garner an answer. “Librarian, eh?”

Before Fingon could offer anything to the conversation, Illiholmo jumped back in, thinking the comment was addressed to him.  “It was a long time ago. I hated it. Libraries are so predictable. Books, scrolls, more books, more scrolls...I do not miss it.”

“He also gets to plan the yearly gala at the museum, which he hosts with a flourish,” Laechenn said.  “And I get to attend it--which is the second highlight of my year, next to this vacation.” Laechenn drank more wine.

“Some people like being librarians,” Fingon said quietly.

“Well, of course, I would expect librarians like it,” Laechenn replied.

Maglor tossed his fiery mane back and laughed, a spirited hearty laugh that was not heard nearly often enough. “That is one of the best assessments I have heard in awhile. I have a confession to make--Fin here is a librarian, and I am teasing him horribly. But seriously, would it not be wonderful if some day the library here gained a museum? The local authority would be foolish not to endorse it, for museums attract visitors and visitors are the lifeblood of the island’s economic base. At least, if a lowly rope-maker may make an observation.”

“Except I am not affiliated with the public lending library; I work at the school,” Fingon said, switching between statements to Maedhros and to the pair across the table.  “The school’s primary function is language and linguistics; there are few items of realia that would fit into the collection. We have an archives, but it is almost entirely written material.  As for the two other libraries on the island, both of them are privately held. The local authority has no authority over them.” He paused to rub his head, eyes squinted shut.

“Maybe that is why you seem familiar,” broken in Laechenn, sensing the sudden tension.  “We get a lot of librarians at the gala, maybe...you were…” He stopped talking as Illiholmo leaned in and whispered something to him.  “Oh!” Laechenn pressed his lips together. “Ah.”

“I should apologize,” said Illiholmo.  “I recognized you almost immediately when we sat down.  I figured you were trying to be discreet, and I did not realize Laechenn was trying to figure it out all this time.”  Illiholmo drummed his fingers on the table. “You are...son of Fingolfin, ex-high king, all of that…” As Illiholmo listed these things, Fingon silently nodded.  “Sorry. There is a...huge statue of you in--”

“Oh!  That statue in Tirion!  Oh…” Laechenn pressed his lips together again, but he smirked, and said, “We are, uh, familiar with that statue.”

Maedhros elected to push the conversation despite Fingon’ bulging eyes, but reached to hold his hand. “Ahhh. Do I detect a story?” he cajoled.

“Alright.  I do not want to upset you, but...alright, I have to ask before I get any deeper into this.  Have you been to your statue lately, because maybe this is--”

“I avoid that monstrosity.  Sorry. That was harsh. Nerdanel did a lovely job.”  Fingon traced his finger back and forth over his lips, as if wiping away the negative words.  “I cannot recall the last time I was in Tirion. What goes on with ‘my’ statue?”

“It has become sort of an attraction for people like us as a place to meet and get to know others like us.  That was actually where we met.” Laechenn bit his lip. “See, people go there, and they put lipstick on and kiss the pedestal to leave their mark there.  They have to clean it practically every month, but some of the lipstick seeps through the limestone, so there are these ghostly images of lips all over it.”

“Are you going to tell him the rest?” asked Illiholmo as Laechenn picked up his glass.

Laechenn smiled and looked across the table.  “So, there is this unofficial holiday that occurs on the anniversary of that gymnastics thing you did, since it is the date etched into the base of the statue.  That tends to be a larger convergence, and some of the people who go dress up for it.”

“People go there and pretend to be me,” Fingon clarified.

“They pretend to be both of you,” Laechenn said.  “First time I went, I...yeah, I had a red wig, I think you know where that is going,” he said, and he blushed slightly at revealing this.

“That was where we met,” Illiholmo said.  He smiled and looked around the table. “I hope that does not make all of this weird now.”

Maedhros held the palm of his hand over his mouth. Mostly, he felt amused. Much of the amusement derived from contemplating how much it would have angered him, had he found out about it previous to this visit. Then there was the disbelief that anything so silly could be possible. Additionally, the thought of glowing kisses all over the statue of Fingon and what amounted to a carnival based on the two of them...the elf he was now snickered behind that hand. With a big smile, he leaned toward Fingon. “The absurdity is the charm, do you not think? I confess to wanting to watch a crowd of copies of me milling about.” He leaned forward. “Does anyone really tall enough ever attend?”

“We have had a few tall-ish people, but when you got up there and sang, and almost hit your head on the curtain, I was certain--well, when they announced your name after you sang, obviously.  And, sorry, I should have figured who you were, then,” apologized Laechenn as he lifted his drink at Fingon. “I know what threw me off. The statue and every picture in the museum has you with hair down to the floor.”

“Clearly, I am going to have to modify my costume,” lamented Illiholmo.

Fingon twirled a lock of his own hair, which he had not even attempted to braid since cutting it.  “A recent development. It makes me think I should try to catch the next of these celebrations.”

“You could be the judge!  They always have a contest--can you imagine the crowd it would attract if they were there?” Laechenn excitedly asked.

Immediately, Fingon paled.  “I would most certainly not announce myself.  A covert option, on some strange level, I am intrigued.  I do not think I am ready to walk amongst a crowd of doppelgangers and decree the one who looks most like my reflection.”

“Perhaps I could,” Maedhros proposed. “If you felt comfortable with me doing so. Either way this is a matter for the future, and there is no need to decide anything just now.” For a few moments, the idea of encouraging Gildor to judge numerous Maedhros imitators popped into his head, but again, no. Gildor would insist on judging the winner based on what was under the costume, not the costume itself. “I am glad, though, to have found out about this. It is both flattering and humorous.”

“I have no idea who the organizer is, but if you are interested, I can chat with some of the others who have attended to see if they know,” offered Laechenn.  “I do not know if it would work for you this year--the next one is about a month from now.”

The redhead carefully studied Fingon’s face. “At this time, no thank you,” Maedhros courteously replied. “The beauty of this is, if and when we are ready I know precisely how to find you. I am interested in visiting your museum, even if it might not be suited to this place.”

“You can expect a personally guided tour whenever you visit,” promised Illiholmo.  “Do you have something to write with? I can give you our address so that you can write to us.  I would ask one of the workers here, but, I think they want us out of here soon and I hate to be even more of a nuisance.”

“We probably should vacate soon,” Fingon noted, for there was only one other table with people at it, and the musicians were packing up their instruments.  “How long until you return to the mainland? Perhaps we can find a way to have dinner again before you leave.”

“I think in four days?  We have literally come here for dinner every night, so if you want to join us, that is fine by me,” said Laechenn.  He looked to his husband, who nodded.

“I cannot promise, but I would like to,” Maedhros said. “We have other housemates and so scheduling can become a little complicated.” Still unsure with how much Fingon wished to reveal he...mildly prevaricated.

“At the very least, we can try to see you off when you leave,” Fingon suggested as they began to extricate themselves from their table.  When the couples parted outside on the corner, Fingon looked up at the sky. “I really hope they did not wait up for us. I think mine went to bed.”  He looked back down at Maedhros. “Any idea on yours?”

“If they were worried, they would have tracked us down by now, because I told Gildor where I intended to bring you.”

Fingon half-spun around.  “The school is closed, so I guess it is too late for me to go and get my things from the library, but I should be there tomorrow...I walked here.  Did you walk here?” He received a nod of confirmation. “I guess we should be getting back.” 

“Mmhmm.”  Maedhros looked down one side of the street, and then the other.  It appeared empty, with the exception of a stray cat crossing the road.  “Uh...can we...I want to show you something over here…” trailed off Maedhros as he disappeared between the Shrieking Peacock and the building beside it.

“In the alley?” mumbled Fingon, but he followed.  When he emerged behind the structures, he looked around, but did not see Maedhros.  As he was about to turn the other way, he was spun around by the shoulder, and a moment later, felt Maedhros insistently press his lips upon his own.  Fingon blinked when Maedhros shifted back.

“You are full of surprises,” Fingon whispered, smiling. Mostly he did not want to admit how much he had liked that. “But why are we in an alley?”

“I honestly did not know how you would react if I did that in front of the building, or inside for that matter.”  Maedhros licked his lips. “I intend to do it again, unless you object.”

Fingon blushed under the stars...or what of them were visible betwixt the buildings. “I do not,” he breathed, his pulse quickening without his notice.

“I had hoped that would be your answer, Finya.”  Maedhros did not stop at a second kiss, and soon he had Fingon backed up against a brick wall, his hand cradling the back of Fingon’s head to keep it from the abrasive surface.  “I have so many other thoughts of what to do with you back here,” admitted Maedhros in a low rumble as he kissed his way up Fingon’s neck and loosened the lacing of his companion’s shirt as best he could with the stump of his arm.  In case there was uncertainty of the direction that Maedhros was headed in, he kissed Fingon deeply on the mouth and ground their pelvises together, and neither was unaffected by the sudden intimacy they were sharing.

Fingon did his best to stifle the groan that came from the close contact. A small part of him worried about the appropriateness, but his husbands had spoken so many assurances. As had Gildor. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gave up--with the limitation that if they were to once again unite, it was not going to be in this alley. Convinced he had a framework for the encounter, he yielded to what Maedhros offered.

A quick scan of the alley gave Maedhros an idea of the where if not the what, and he pulled Fingon with him to the back of another establishment.  This one had some sort of a brick ledge behind it, and Maedhros managed somehow to lift Fingon up to sit on it. With Fingon elevated above him, Maedhros now worked to loosen Fingon’s belt.  “Dinner was amazing, but I have been thinking of dessert all night.”

The blush on Fingon’s cheek fortunately was not visible. This touch...a part of him had yearned for it, even if that part had been gagged and stuffed into a figurative Basement of Heresies. He could feel himself hardening at the mere suggestion. Licking his lips, Fingon placed his hands on Maedhros’ shoulders. “I seem to be at your mercy,” he whispered. “Are you sure that this place is a good idea? I give my word that if we go home, I will allow you to continue.”

“If we go home now, I might lose what courage I have,” Maedhros admitted.  Fingon’s belt was dangling at either side now, but his pants were yet to be where Maedhros wanted them to be--namely, down around his ankles.  And that lovely, large appendage...Maedhros sighed. “I can take you home, Finya. This was extremely unfair to you to--”

“Just what is going on down here?”  It was at that moment that one of the watchmen with his lantern swinging at his side strolled into the alleyway.  “Well, well...an unseemly act if ever there was one. Looks like one of you gets a ticket, and the other gets a night in the jail,” he said as he pulled an official-looking leather bound booklet from a satchel.

Fingon’s eyes widened in panic as he scrambled to reassemble his clothing. Maedhros’ body shielded that action from view, more so when he turned to face the authority. “Pardon me, but may I inquire what is unseemly about two lovers sharing a secluded place for a kiss under the stars? With respect, I believe that unseemliness would have occurred had we not come here, specifically so as to not have a public display of affection even at nighttime.” His bearing projected self-assurance and calm, and his features sincerity as he did his level best to get them out of this mess. Behind him, Fingon swiftly closed his pants and silently buckled the belt, ensuring the metalwork made no sound. A few tugs of his fingers set his tunic to rights. 

Clearing his throat softly, he appeared from behind Maedhros. “Sir, I feel certain there is some misunderstanding. It is as my companion said. This was the conclusion of a romantic evening. We have a home; there is no need for us to engage in inappropriate activity in an alleyway. A few simple kisses in privacy, and we were making for home. Please? We will willingly pay a fine though we do not believe we are guilty, if that is what you demand.” Fingon did not look at Maedhros, but put what commanding persuasion he could into his voice. Essentially, there were really not words for how much he did not wish to be made into a spectacle.

During the pleas, the watchman wrote several things in his leather bound book, and shot them several disbelieving looks.  When they were through, he said, just as calmly as they were speaking, “I have spent many years in this position, and it never surprises me how convincing all you prostitutes sound, giving me your little stories of what is really going on out here as you lure tourists into dark alleys to make a few coins.  The only thing I cannot figure from the two of you is which one is being paid.” He looked back and forth between them, and finally his gaze fell upon Fingon. “I know I have seen you around before, which means you,” he said pointing at Maedhros, “must be from the mainland. Ticket is forty-five gold; you can always try to convince the magistrate things are different in the morning.  As for you,” he said as he looked back to Fingon, “since I know you are from around here, and you should know the rules about all this, and even if you were doing what you say, no one needs his pants down for that, I am taking you to--”

“And if you try to come back, you will be in a world of hurt!”

“You better let me back in there!  Do you know who I am?!”

“Do I look like I care?”

“See if you care when I burn this fucking place to the ground!”

“Love to see you try!”

The watchman was already tucking the leather bound book away hastily.  “I better not see either of you again tonight,” he warned. “You stay out of these alleys.  Nothing good comes from them. And if there is a next time, I will throw you both in the jail.  In separate cells,” he warned as he jogged back between the buildings to find the source of the commotion.

Maedhros did not hesitate. He grabbed Fingon’s hand and they ran. They ran towards home and not until Maedhros was breathless and all chance of pursuit was left behind did they slow down and stop. Maedhros, not being used to such exertions, strained for air. “I am so sorry!” he wheezed out between breaths. “Stupid, fucking stupid, that was almost a complete disaster! Can only hope you--please Finya, forgive me. I did it because...couldn’t...shiiiiiiit.” The talking had to stop, there was no other choice at the moment. Bent forward at the waist, supporting his weight by bracing against his thighs, the red hair hung down in luxurious strands that brushed just along the dewy grasses.

For Fingon, the run was not very taxing due to his constant training, and he stood, watching Maedhros for a moment before he reached out to rub his back.  Then, he burst out laughing. “Can you imagine how many jokes Gildor is going to make when I tell him I was almost arrested for prostitution?” Fingon began to laugh a little harder.  “I would be the worst prostitute in the world!”

“Would not have been you,” Maedhros managed, regaining some of his air. “I would have admitted to anything and everything so that you would be the one set free. But yes, Gildor will indeed be amused. It will probably take an effort on my part to keep him re-enacting the crime, if you must know.”

“My hero,” Fingon crooned, drawing his fingers through the fiery locks.  “If they think a measly little jail cell would keep me from rescuing you, they underestimate my abilities.”  Fingon looked down the road, and saw the signpost ahead. “We still have a little walk until we get home, but we are close.  Whenever you are ready.”

Grasping Fingon’s hand, Maedhros straightened up and signaled his readiness to walk again. He had wanted more, but if he could not have that then they would at least walk under the stars above.

Leaning against Maedhros, Fingon waited until after they passed the signpost to ask, “What was it that you could not do?”

“I, uh…” Maedhros closed his eyes and unknowingly squeezed Fingon’s hand a little tighter. “This is hard to say and I do not even know why. I could not see myself boldly seducing you at home despite my desire to do so and the ongoing reassurances of our collective husbands. I felt like it was there or nowhere, which...after all the things I have previously imposed on Gildor feels like the worst hypocrisy in the world. And I still apologize, because you in no way should have been treated like that.”

Fingon walked along for a short way, silent. “What if I wanted to be treated like that?”

“Finya…”  Maedhros stopped and turned on his heel so that they could face each other.  He stroked Fingon’s cheek with his stump as Fingon waited for a reply. “I remember a time when you would have flinched had I done that.”

“Only because I spent a long time blaming myself for things that I should not have,” Fingon said.  He nodded his head in the direction of the river. “We are almost to the house, or, there is a place by the river.  Perfect for seducing ex-lovers,” he added.

Maedros frowned, but unhesitatingly changed direction toward the river. “I thought we got rid of ‘ex’ already. No?”

“Force of habit.  Forgive me?”

“Always,” Maedhros answered quickly. “Always.”

They did not need to walk far before they reached the clearing, and as soon as they were there, Fingon nuzzled Maedhros’ neck.  “What are your intentions with me, lover?” he asked as the sound of the rushing water and crickets was heard around them.

“I wanted to give you pleasure,” Maedhros admitted. “And to feel close to you. To begin to give you the enjoyments we were denied before.”

“I want that, too, so long as you receive pleasure as well.”  Fingon was able to remove his own belt much faster, and while he left his shirt on, he wasted little time working out of the rest of his clothing so that he was only stepping out of his pants a moment later.  “Sorry about the amenities. I will have to--” He blushed and kicked his trousers to the side. Expecting he would be pressed for explanation, he finished the thought. “I will have to be better prepared next time.”

“I do not think I care,” Maedhros said, in disbelief at the sight. “I am still rediscovering how beautiful your body is.” He moved closer. “May I kiss you?” came the throaty question. Already, his hand was gently touching Fingon’s bare skin.

“You can do more than kiss me,” Fingon said with growing excitement and anticipation.  “I trust you, Maitmo.” His hands were busy working on the belt around Maedhros’ waist.  “I never forgot how beautiful you are,” he said appreciatively.

“I do not know how I deserve you, or this with you. Before I become lost to lust, I want to tell you I am grateful, Fin. Grateful to regain your favor, your love. For I love you.” Kisses tracked down Fingon’s neck, one lightly brushed against his ear. “And I love Gildor, for giving this gift.”

A higher-pitched sound of grateful desire escaped Fingon when Maedhros’ lips made contact with his ear, effectively stirring his desire so that his shirt tented stiffly down near the bottom hem.  “I love Gildor, too, and Glorfindel and Erestor...this is more than I ever dreamed we would have. I missed...so much. So much time with you and--” Fingon took a deep breath. “I love you.”

With a groan, Maedhros knelt, caressing his lover’s phallus before carefully laving it. So much of the time, Gildor bestowed this on him, but now he found the desire to explore for himself--and clearly his attentions were being appreciated. Slowly, he coaxed Fingon first to his knees while he lavished attention on the impressive member. If a hand strayed to the back of a certain knee, who could blame him?

Fingon’s hand strayed now, and cupped at Maedhros’ groin.  He was not surprised at what he found there. “You seem overdressed for the current situation,” Fingon whispered.  “I want to feel...more of you,” he begged.

“Take them off,” Maedhros pleaded, unwilling to stop touching Fingon in order to care for it himself. “Take them off and if...Fin, I am afraid to ask for more than you wish to give, but I want badly to feel your touch. Only if you--” with a sharp inhalation, he felt Fingon’s hand stroke him through his clothing, almost causing his knees to buckle. “Ohhhhh,” the redhead moaned helplessly.

“LIke that?” Fingon asked, his voice laced with notes of naive curiosity.  “Or…” He yanked the fabric down to Maedhros’ knees and reached out again. “Or like this?” His voice dropped down slightly, a silkier tone, and his gaze met that of Maedhros as he curled his fingers first around the heavy sacs, and then slid his fingers up with minor hesitation and encircled them around the hard length.  “Someday...I want to feel this inside of me again,” he admitted, and shivered at his revelation. “I want to feel you within me. Someday.”

“Finya…” Maedhros whispered, overcome with emotion, lowered his head to steal a kiss. “Our time will come, and I swear to you I will care for you and treasure you. I will do anything not to hurt you ever again. And…” Maedhros gasped from the pressure of Fingon’s fingers changing. “Fin...I want the same. I still have never--Gildor does not want me in that way and I hope so much that you might.” The kisses grew in passion; Maedhros yielded to the guiding hand that eased him backwards to lie in the soft grass. He dreamed about what this moment would be when it was his turn to be taken, and realized that he was close to losing control.

“That I might...you mean…”  Fingon was breathing faster, and felt he knew what those words meant.  He straddled Maedhros’ body, aligning them, stroking a hand along both at the same time.  “That was all I ever wanted you to offer,” he said, eyes glistening. “That was all I wanted...just to hear you say that…”  Fingon wiped beneath his right eye with his palm, and then leaned down and fervently kissed Maedhros. He began to rock against the body beneath him, one hand on Maedhros’ shoulder, pressing down with gentle assertion of their positions, and the other at Maedhros’ hip.

“I am sorry! My stupid family! Stupid me for thinking I had to listen to them! None of it was because they cared about me, it was because they wanted…” he turned his head to one side. “No. I am blaming them when it was my choice in the end. I was an asshole and a fool. Are you really sure you want to be saddled with me?” Maedhros voice quavered a tiny bit, but liberal moans of enjoyment were interspersed with the words. He bucked his hips upward into Fingon’s hand, unable to stop himself. “I want to be saddled by you.”

“Honey, if we had lubricant, pillows, and a mattress right now, all I know is one of us would be so deep in the other we would not have coherent conversation.”  Fingon sloppily kissed Maedhros a few more times and then said, “If you can forgive yourself for all of the things in the past, then I can forgive myself for my part of it all.  The only solace I derive from those past mistakes is that without them, we would probably not have Gildor, Glorfindel, and Erestor in our lives the way we do, and I have to accept that as part of His plan.  Part of my plan right now...is this.” Fingon grasped Maedhros’ hips firmly and sat up a little, and began to roll his hips in such a way that it increased their pleasure without increasing the pressure.

Those words caused Maedhros’ heart to soar. Everything was truly going to be well between them. Between all of them. He would end the self-recriminations, because Fingon was doing the same. He also realized that he was close to bursting. “I am not ordinarily this unable to last, but you have me too aroused,” Maedhros breathed. “That is not in any way a complaint. Fortunately, there is the great equalizer.” He reached up, making plain his intention to stroke Fingon’s ears--but waited for a moment to ensure his lover wanted the same. “Come with me?” he asked.

Fingon trembled as he nodded, knowing exactly what would happen.  Perhaps at this point, had either of his husbands done such a thing, the result would not be instantaneous.  The thought of Maedhros touching him again in that way-Maitimo, the one who had discovered just how a kiss behind the ear or biting the back of his neck could send him soaring into a completely different place, and how patient he was in that exploration, and how many times it ended with being safely snuggled together in the warmth of Maitimo’s bed, was almost too much without the physical experience.  “Please,” he breathed, knowing he need not beg for it-knowing it was what they both wanted and desired.

While his spine arched and twisted in the consuming fire of those few seconds prior to climax, Maedhros touched the edge of Fingon’s ear with the delicacy of an inquisitive child stroking a flower petal for the very first time. His stump, not capable of quite such intricacy, rubbed the back of his lover’s neck. By those motions he freed the suppressed adoration of ages. “Finya!” he cried out as their shafts, swollen with mutual desire, plunged against each other inside Fingon’s restraining grasp. Lost in the moment, his seed erupted. Semen splashed onto his chest and throat, the heated liquid creating tiny wisps of condensation in the night air. 

Their hearts thundered as they nestled close together, both of them quite content. “I needed that,” Maedhros admitted. “With you. Thank you for giving it to me.”

No words were spoken.  Fingon kissed Maedhros’ jaw and sighed.  When he sat up to assess the mess they had made, he was pleased to see that at some point, their shirts had come off and were not covered in goo as he had somehow expected them to be.  Fingon looked down at the sticky residue on Maedhros’ chest, then drew his finger through it in the shape of a heart.

Laughing, Maedhros mischievously scooped a glob of it with his fingers, using it to draw a heart in little gloppy dots over Fingon’s heart. With a happily feral grin he looked at Fingon as if to say, ‘your turn.’

“I know it will be cold, but do you want to bathe with me down in the river?” asked Fingon.

“I would prefer that lovely pool near the cottage, but if this is your wish I will be right behind you. We are not so young anymore and I find I do not spurn extra comforts when they are at hand. Heat is good,” he chuckled.

“In that case,” said Fingon as he lifted himself off of Maedhros, “race you there!”  He managed to grab his clothing and shoes and bolted, still completely naked, in the direction of the cottage, laughter in his wake.

Maedhros crossed his arms before he remembered he was sticky with...that, and glared. “Well,” he huffed, though he was not really irritated. “Some things have not changed in the least!” Hastily finding his belongings, he gave chase.

Had it been earlier in the day, there would have been a chance of crossing paths with the courier or travelers using the path to get to the small market or any number of others coming to call upon a member of the household.  With the moon shining down, Fingon felt confident that no one would see him as he hurriedly crossed the roadway and ran around the house, stopping only when he reached the hammock, and only to toss his clothes into it before he approached the pool with more caution so that he would not slip and fall.  “This was a really good idea,” he recognized as he stuck his foot in, felt the warmth, and lowered himself down into the blissfully warm water.

Exhilarated, Maedhros did similar but he did not stop. “Dive bomb!” he yelled gleefully to the night air, aiming for a spot in the pool that he had carefully marked as being deep enough and absent of rocks. Tucking his long legs up as best he could, he landed on the surface with a mighty Sploooosh! and disappeared into the water. The water, the utterly blissfully warm water, surrounded all of him. Hastily he rubbed the mess off his chest, and when he was good and ready, surfaced next to Fingon. “You won the race,” he grinned, pressing himself close. Water streamed down his broad shoulders, calling to mind a water-spirit in full resplendence. “But I arrived with more style.”

“That deserves a reward,” decided Fingon.  Closing what little gap there was, he started with several small, lingering kisses and worked up to plunging his tongue within Maedhros’ mouth as he ground up against him, a hand behind Maedhros’ neck and another rubbing in circles on his hindquarter, squeezing now and then as he poured the renewed love and lust into the encounter.

Instinctively, Maedhros returned the affection, but he could not help reaching out in his mind for Gildor. They were right here at the house, and these changed circumstances still felt very strange. But finding his husband sound asleep and then reminding himself again that this was permitted, he gave himself over with equal enthusiasm. To leave no doubt about that, he cupped one globe of Fingon’s rear with his hand, using his other arm to draw his partner’s hips firmly toward his arousal. Between the deep kisses Maedhros groaned. “Fin...how little it takes to cause me to burn for you.” Unsure but goaded to try, his long fingers touched gently near Fingon’ entrance. Close enough to arouse, but far enough away to desist immediately if his advance was unwelcome.

Just as strongly as he had reacted when his ears had been touched, Fingon whimpered and trembled, and released again into the water.  “How little it...takes to...sorry,” he moaned, resting his forehead on Maedhros’ shoulder. “I feel like I am fifty again.”

“The response of your body is a greater flattery than any words, Fin.” Maedhros wore a silly smile. “I feel about the same. I know you do not like...I am content to care for my own want, but I would enjoy that so much more if I could have your kisses. That is the beauty of water, you know,” he winked. “Buoyancy.”

“What if you...you know, rubbed against my body?” suggested Fingon, still panting slightly.  He leaned in to bestow a series of sweet kisses, still caressing Maedhros. “I meant what I said by the river, Maitimo.  I just think I am...there is so much energy, I just keep bursting. I want it to be special for us when we renew that bond.”

Maedhros nodded with a yearning expression in answer. Right now his need was at such a pitch that it would not require much. “Always better to feel you than my own hand,” Maedhros said, his voice dripping with lust. Easily he moved Fingon in front of him, to where both could stand with a firm enough foothold. His eager member found a welcome in the cleft of Fingon’s ass, and conveniently exposed neck and shoulders left plenty of tempting flesh upon which to nibble. “So good, Finya,” was whispered into the sensitive ear. In elation, he felt his lover pressing back against him. “So good.”

Words tumbled from Fingon that he never expected to hear.  “Ride me,” he commanded in a husky voice that barely sounded like his.  “Ride me hard, like you used to, lover.” His hands gripped the rocky ledge.  “Paint my back with your desire.”

Maedhros’ eyes widened for he yet felt unsure of where or what the boundaries were, or if they existed at all? The words fell like flame on an oil-lamp, and he complied with vigor. His teeth sank into Fingon’s shoulder, and he indeed thrust like a stallion--brief and intense--until he exploded forcefully. “Fin, my Finya,” the redhead panted while holding his lover close. “That was--” Raising his head to find the right words; that was when he noticed the full extent of his release. “Fin...uhhh...will you still love me if I tell you that more than your back was painted?” Poking with his finger, he wondered if it was possible to extract the strand of semen from the fluffy hair.

“Uh...I forget how physics works sometimes,” said Fingon.  He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. “Not going to panic,” he told himself firmly. He breathed slowly and after a moment said, “If I cannot see it, I do not know for certain it exists.  Should I...what should I do?” he asked, kneading at one of the stones of the ledge with his right hand.

“Do you trust me?” Maedhros asked softly.

“With my life,” responded Fingon in earnest without needing to pause and consider his answer.

“Take a deep breath right now, hold it and relax.” After Fingon’s immediate compliance, Maedhros pushed off carefully to take them into deeper water. Once they were both fully submerged, he quickly washed the sticky mess off of hair and skin, throwing in a brief scalp massage for good measure. All the while, his stump kept their bodies in tight proximity. Resurfacing, Maedhros booped Fingon on the nose. “All better,” he reassured. “Plus we fed the oysters.”

“Not sure if I am to laugh or cringe at that,” Fingon said.  He chose to cling to Maedhros and nuzzle him. “Thank you, Maitimo.”  When he realized his cheeks were not entirely smooth and probably were not so pleasant for Maedhros, Fingon straightened up and took hold of Maedhros’ arms.  “I need to apologize to you, for everything I did and said to hurt you. There are so many things we might have overcome if I had just expressed myself--talked to you, shared the thoughts in my head, instead of playing a guessing game.  I am sorry. I love you, Maitimo.”

With wonder and happiness lighting his grey eyes, Maedhros returned the affection. “I did the same, in my own way, Finya. There is nothing to forgive but if you need to hear it, your apology is accepted, as I hope you accept mine. I was brooding and moody and I made every difficulty of your life a greater burden to bear, not to mention I outright caused a few of the, ah...you know what...let’s not get into that at a time like this. I am sorry for all those things, I love you with all that I am and I pray that for us this is the beginning we should have had so long ago but did not.”

Fingon pressed his lips against Maedhros’, and then said, “I forgive you.  I forgive myself, and I forgive you. I really do hope this is a new beginning for us.”  Stifling a yawn, Fingon said, “Sleeping in water is frowned upon, so I think we at least need to move to the hammock if not inside the house.”

“Inside,” Maedhros advised. “I feel like I have done a very extravagant share of what Gildor would call canoodling, though I am not sure if canoodling with you is really canoodling at all…” he frowned. “That can so very wait until tomorrow. We both need sleep and come morning it is a workday for you.” He elegantly exited the water and had a towel waiting to throw at Fingon the moment he was on solid land. With just a tiny bit of envy he noted that short hair could be dried very quickly.

With the towel securely wrapped around him, Fingon sidled up next to Maedhros and helped him to dry off.  “Thank you for bringing the towels out,” he said, rising up on the tips of his toes to give Maedhros a peck on the cheek.

“Oh...I just thought they were kept out here,” answered Maedhros.

A faint but familiar sound alerted them that they were not alone.  Standing just at the back corner of the cottage, peering around, Asfaloth knocked his knuckles together.  “It gets cold out at night, and you would have dribbled in the kitchen...I promise I did not look! I did this the whole time!”  Asfaloth reenacted it, with his head in the crook of his arm, other hand outstretched as if carrying a pair of towels in their direction.  He only went a few steps, and then lowered his arms. “I, uh, I have proof I did not look. Stubbed my toe getting there.” He pointed down with one foot stuck forward and a pout.

Fingon bit his lip so that he would not laugh and carefully made his way to Asfaloth.  Just as he had with Maedhros, he had to get onto the tips of his toes (and thought again, as he had previously, of Glorfindel needing to do that with him), and gave Asfaloth a kiss on the cheek.  “You are a true gentleman, Asfaloth,” said Fingon.

Asfaloth blinked his huge, dark eyes.  “I am a horse,” he corrected.

“Your pardon.  A gentlehorse, then,” Fingon said.

“I thank you as well,” Maedhros added, also bestowing affection on the opposite cheek. “And I think we must keep focused on sleep, because time is not standing still and someone has to go to work in the morning. Sweet dreams, gentlehorse.”

Asfaloth scuffed his non-stubbed foot against the grass.  “Aww, it was nothing,” he said. “Go on then, you two,” he coaxed, shooing them inside.

Into the house and up the stairs, and slowly down to the end of the hall to the master bedroom they went.  “They must all be asleep by now,” whispered Fingon just before he peeked into the room. In what dim light there was, three forms were snuggled together in the bed.  The one in the middle stirred, and Fingon returned the little wave from Gildor.

“Mae Mae, this room needs a bigger bed, and I am not vacating because I am comfortable and also Glorfindel’s leg is over mine, and even if it was not, I would not be leaving,” Gildor sleepily hissed at them.

“I think we were crowded out,” Fingon spoke to Maedhros very quietly in a voice laced with amusement. “I do not wish to wake my golden god, nor disturb yours.”

“I am still awake, but some people argue I never sleep.”  Erestor lifted his head slightly. “Also not leaving. Close the door, please, you are letting the warmth from the fireplace out.  Sorry--I mean--”

“Shhhhhh,” came the noise from Glorfindel’s pillow.

Erestor snorted and lowered his voice.  “I mean, love you both, please close the door?”

“Love you all, too,” whispered Fingon as he closed the door and Maedhros blew haphazard kisses into the room.  The last thing that was seen was Gildor lifting an arm to grab at one, and Maedhros and Fingon both laughed. “So...your room?”

Maedhros’ eyes widened and he said nothing as he stared at Fingon.

“What is that look?  What is going on in your room?  What, am I going to find bondage paraphernalia and soiled sheets all over the place?” he asked as he walked a few feet and placed his hand on the knob.

Clearly Maedhros was hesitating, but when he saw the door about to open, he placed his hand on Fingon’s to stop him. “Yes, I am afraid you will not find things inside to your satisfaction. And...I do not know how to ask this so I will hope blunt honesty does not ruin this wonderful day with you. I would feel more comfortable, just this once, if we could share a bed that is not the one I share with Gildor. I too am adjusting, but more than that I wish to honor my mate--I never discussed this scenario with him. Even as I know that you and I will be mates to each other as well.” He snorted, shaking his head. “Gildor does not seem like the type, but he can be deeply hurt and I do not want to be the accidental cause of it even in small ways.” He tried to mask his worry but was not a good enough actor to be convincing. “Please?”

Fingon’s hand slipped away from the doorknob and he turned to face Maedhros, though still needed to look up to do so.  “All you had to say was no, sweetheart. Ever in the past, you always honored me by stopping anything I ever asked you to.  I shall strive to always do the same.” In what was becoming a natural exercise in poise, Fingon lifted himself on his toes and kissed Maedhros softly.  “I am not sure where we should go. I...would prefer not the library,” he added. “I have begun to think of it as a...den of deviance,” he admitted, “and I think I want a nice, cozy spot to curl up with you for the night.”

“What about that room?” asked Maedhros as he pointed down the hallway.

Fingon’s gaze shifted to a door that was now rarely opened.  “The room I shared with Beleg.”

“I cannot imagine it is in disarray.  Or...is it too personal for you to take me in there?”

“Nnn…...o.”  But Fingon did not move.  “It only has two small beds in it, and they are on opposite sides of the room.”

“What if we push the beds together and move them back in the morning?” Maedhros suggested.

“You would need to move more than the beds.  There is a dresser, and a chair, and other things.”

“Small bed sounds cozy,” Maedhros said, changing tactics.  “However, I stand by what I said--if you prefer we not cross that threshold--”

“I guess we can figure something out in there.”  Fingon slid under Maedhros’ arm to escape and went to open the door.  “Just…” Fingon sighed and entered into the room.

“No,” Maedhros announced flatly, tugging at him to move back toward the door. “I can hear in your voice that this is not what you want. This house is very large; it cannot be that much of a trial to find one room with a bed for two in which we can sleep. If need be I will lie on the sofa and you will sleep on top my body, but I wish to be close with you. That does not include one or the other of us falling through the space between two small beds when one of us shifts the wrong way.”

Fingon wrung his hands together.  “I just need you not to judge whatever you see in there.  Alright?”

Confused, Maedhros immediately desisted, because whatever this was seemed important to Fingon. “I give you my word,” he offered, rubbing Fingon’s arm with what he hoped was reassurance.

There was a candle to be lit at the doorway, and while it did not fully illuminate the room, it provided enough light to see by.  There was evidence that the room was still cared for--lack of dust, the window cracked open for fresh air, and wood ready for a fire.  The beds, while small, were long and adequate enough to fit two people snuggled together, so there would be no need for rearrangements in the room.  On the far side, one wall was adorned with an array of items which would remind one of the great archer of Doriath--a portrait painted by Glorfindel, a quiver complete with arrows, a small silver flute on a shelf, to name a few.  By the bedside, a pair of red shoes, worn but not useless, and a cloak draped over a chair beside the bed. 

Fingon sat down on the edge of the bed closer to the door; the one that was clearly his.  He set the candle on the dresser, and the light shone down on all of the things found there--many personal belongings arranged neatly on the side that Beleg had used.  Maedhros picked up a book from a pile on a chest at the end of the bed and Fingon said, “He checked those out of the library before we went on our journey to bring back Maglor.  I...should probably take them back, but…”

“Sweetie.  You have to let him go.  You know that, right?” Maedhros turned to look at Fingon, who sat stone still, staring at the ground.  “Honey, I do not know what else to tell you, but this looks like a...shrine or something.” Maedhros came back and sat down beside Fingon after he closed the door to the room to give them privacy.  “You do not let anyone else in here, do you?”

“No one else comes in,” Fingon said softly.

Understanding, Maedhros coaxed Fingon to his feet so that he could turn down the covers. His towel fell away.  Deeming his hair dry enough, he quickly braided it loosely so that come morning it would not be a disaster of tangles. Entering the bed, he arranged himself so that there was still room for another, and held up the bedding in invitation. “Come to me, Finya. Tell me whatever you wish, or rest in my arms knowing that if something concerns you, it concerns me. I love you.”

With the chill of the air coming in through the window, Fingon went to close it before he came back to the bed.  The towel was flung onto an empty chair and he crawled in and cuddled close to Maedhros. “I think I always thought he would come back.  Just to visit,” Fingon said quickly. “He drew me out, you know. I would still be a lonely hermit in a crumbling theatre if he had not showed up.”

“Then I owe him a great debt,” Maedhros said softly, barely murmuring into Fingon’s ear. He was working to mold their bodies as closely together as possible. Reflexively he kissed the pale shoulder.

“I told him everything.  He listened to...everything.  And then, he was gone, by my own hand.  I will not regret bringing his lover back to him, but...losing him still hurt, even though he was never mine to have.  And then...Faelion. I did it all over again. I confided in him. And then it was worse--he turned on us, and stole away Glorfindel, and left, and tried to kill Erestor, I just know he did, I just know it that he had something to do with it...not the poisoning, no, but when Erestor almost died at Elrond’s house...I fear what Faelion remembers about me, and he has proven that he remembers a lot.  I will not have him blackmail me when--” Fingon nestled closer, clinging to Maedhros for strength. “When I am king. However...what am I to do if he starts sharing the most intimate details of my life with the general public. I do not know how I will cope with that. More than that, I became so cautious. It was never that I wanted to deceive Glorfindel and Erestor, nor you and Gildor, but I could not risk being hurt again.  I did not want to risk being alone again.”

A dangerous anger swept through Maedhros on hearing this about Faelion, though he gave no outward sign. He knew perfectly well what to do, but now was no time to discuss those thoughts. “You will never be alone again. We are your family now. The family of all of our choosing. None of those things you fear will come to pass. You tell me often that Eru has a plan for you. If that is true, He is not building you up only to cast you down.” Another kiss of affection and reassurance was placed on Fingon’s shoulder. 

“Thank you.  You have no idea how much that helps.  When I am feeling most lost, I need to remember my faith.”  Fingon kissed along Maedhros’ throat. “I guess I keep all of my secrets in this room.”

Groaning, Maedhros extended his neck and felt his returning arousal. “I can maintain just enough self control to quiet myself if you stop now,” he said gently. “For I know you have work in the morning. But I am just as eager to give you what you want, if that is indeed the case. There. I just did my part to be a responsible adult,” he panted.

“Well, I was pretty relaxed until you said all that,” Fingon whispered, for now he, too, was becoming aroused.  “I mean...what is a half-hour less of sleep? And I already technically took a bath, so I can skip that in the morning.  I feel like I need a more solid reason why not.”

“Well you are not going to get it from me,” came the feral growl. In a fluid motion, he managed to flip their positions so that Fingon was on his back. Swiping up a towel with one of his long arms,  he wadded it somewhere quickly reachable, and immediately descended on Fingon, taking him into his eager mouth. His lover would not like soiled sheets, so already he had a workable plan for preventing that outcome. “Hmmmm,” Maedhros hummed, bringing him in deep. He took himself in hand, giving a few light strokes.

Fingers clawed at Maedhros’ shoulders, and Fingon’s toes curled.  “Yes...please…” was all he managed to say before all the sounds produced were grunts and gasps depending on exactly what Maedhros was doing to him.  On one hand, Fingon wanted to give Maedhros instructions on where he could find the oil, but on the other, he was uncertain about how ready he was to give himself completely just yet.  As heat pooled in his groin, Fingon slowly rolled his hips and dug his fingers in deeper as encouragement.

Maedhros relished every moment. He was a musician; his long lost instrument restored to him. Every string, every fret was intimately known. How carefully he drew forth the strains that were melody in his ears! With joy, he kept both of them on edge, having paused only to shake loose the towel where it could absorb his emission. Sometimes he would withdraw in his attack, giving the barest nibbles, only to alternate with drowning the hard length in his throat. Waiting, waiting, for some sign that Fingon could endure no more--then he still would draw out the final coda on one sustained interval they both would echo.

“You bring me the sweetest agony,” groaned Fingon as he made an attempt to thrust into Maedhros’ mouth, but found only air.  “After all these years, you still know every inch of my body, and how to make it sing.”

“And you still know how to bend me to your desire,” Maedhros admitted, too easily abandoning his plan to draw their pleasure out for endless minutes. He could perceive Fingon’s desire for release. “Take your pleasure, Fin. Let me taste you.” His mouth encircled Fingon once more, inviting him to thrust with abandon. Using his stump, he gently teased with pressure below Fingon’s sacs, exciting the tiny organ contained inside. He heard a whimper from Fingon, and felt the eagerness of his motion. It would be a matter of seconds now until--he felt and heard his partner go rigid underneath him. Shoulders were clawed in desperation as the organ pulsed its release into his throat. Attuned, Maedhros stiffened as well from a final stroke of his hand, crying out against the cock that filled his mouth. Courteously, he waited until he was certain that Fingon had his full enjoyment before milking every last drop. With a resounding ‘plop’ Maedhros allowed the spent penis to unceremoniously drop onto Fingon’s abdomen. He himself pitched forward, slowly coming to rest on his lover’s body, replete and now feeling quite sleepy. “Mmmm,” Maedros grunted. “So good.”

“Hold me.  Please.” Fingon was already wrapping his arms around Maedhros.  “Love you.”

“Love you too.” The soiled towel was thrown onto the floor. Maedhros wriggled into somethin like their former position so that he could better do as Fingon asked. 

“Pull up covers please?” Maedhros asked sleepily. “Hard to, with stump.” Already he had Fingon melded to the length of his body and was drifting off.

Complying immediately, Fingon held Maedhros tightly, and in the few moments before falling asleep himself, he was already thinking of sleeping solutions and a single enormous bed for them to share.


	22. Day 22

###  Morning, Day 22

“We missed you at supper last night.”

Fingon, who had ever so carefully and quietly extracted himself from bed, sneaked into his own room for clothing, and made it all the way to the door before he had any inclination that anyone else was awake, cringed.  Elrond’s words brought him back to the sitting room, where Fingon peeked in. “Sorry about that,” he apologized.

“Is everything alright?”

A moment was taken to consider the question.  “Everything will be,” answered Fingon. 

“Tonight, will you be home in time for supper?”

Feeling like a youth again, with his father scrutinizing his actions, Fingon nodded slowly.  “I think so,” he said.

“Good.  Maedhros said you both wanted me to examine you, and--”

“Oh!  That! Uh...yes, sorry, we did agree to that.”

Elrond raised a brow.  “It is completely up to you--”

“Oh, I know--”

“--but it will be to your benefit.  As you are aware, athletes need constant assessment as to their physical well-being.”  As Elrond spoke, Fingon nodded. “Tonight, then? Before supper? Will you have time?”

“Yes,” answered Fingon, slightly embarrassed that he had forgotten the appointment.  “I will be there.”

“Good.  I will see you then.  Have a good day at work.”

\---

Upstairs, Maedhros stirred from the lack of warmth beside him.  Faintly, he heard the front door closing, and he settled back down again and pulled up the covers.  This lasted only a few minutes before Maedhros sat up and rubbed his eyes. In the daylight, he looked across the room at the wall of mementos.  “You must have been amazing, Beleg, but you are the past. No offense, but he has to stop worshipping you.” 

Maedhros slipped out of bed and hurried to the room he and Gildor had been using.  Plans were forming in his mind faster than he could organize his thoughts, and he took only a moment to enter the master bedroom and announce his plans to go into town for the day.  He stopped back in the room he had slept in, and half an hour later, was on his way.

The second opening and closing of the front door woke Gildor.  Besides needing to use the water closet, he was also hungry, and recalling something important in the back of his mind.  “Marketday,” he mumbled, and he poked at Glorfindel, who grunted and burrowed. “Time to get up and go make the monies,” Gildor said.  “I have all of the invitations to send, too, and I certainly was not going to put them into the post box for the courier. First, they would not fit, and second--”

“Invitations?”  Erestor, who had been up and listening to the sounds from the hallway for almost an hour, rolled over and draped an arm over Gildor.  “What invitations?”

“The wedding,” Gildor reminded him.

“Right--the wedding!”  Erestor stretched his limbs.  “I thought you were just going to have your father inform everyone in order to get them here on time,” Erestor said.

“He is, but I want invitations to be handed to everyone as they step onto the boat.  My mother would be so disappointed not to be given an invitation. She collects all of the invitations from every wedding she has been to in these really big scrapbooks,” explained Gildor as Glorfindel began to stir.

“That sounds like something she would do,” Erestor said.  “Remind me sometime to tell you stories about her from when we were growing up together.”  Erestor’s offer brightened Gildor’s expression and he nodded. Erestor stretched again with a slight groan as his joints stirred and his body warmed.  “I have my to-do list for today. I have a few things to tend to in the garden, but then I will get right to all of the other preparations.”

“Thank you, darling,” Gildor said as he hugged Erestor.  Gildor began to crawl out of bed, but then he settled himself back in again.  “I have to take a piss, but there are a few extra details about the wedding that I want to share.  I need to share. I need to tell you some things about my plan.”

Erestor sat up and put an arm around Gildor.  “This sounds important.”

Gildor nodded as Glorfindel rose as well.  “These are possible ‘great idea’ or ‘terrible idea’ candidates,” said Gildor.  “I was very convinced that they were great ideas yesterday, but now, I am starting to worry and second-guess.”

“Share with us, Gildor.  We promise to be honest with you,” said Glorfindel.

“I most certainly hope you will be, and perhaps that is part of what I am afraid of.”  Gildor took a deep breath. “Let me start at the beginning…”

  
  


\---

“Good morning, sir!  Can I help you find something?” asked Cessanya.  She was just returning from the stacks when Maedhros walked into the library with a satchel over his shoulder.

“Good morning.  I just came to speak to your supervisor.  Is he in his office?” asked Maedhros.

“I believe so.  He said something about being buried in a mountain of paperwork,” Cessanya said.

Maedhros nodded.  “Just where he left off yesterday.”  Now acclimated with the layout, Maedhros was able to locate the office in short order.  “I bet you skipped breakfast,” he said in greeting.

Fingon looked up with a small smile.  “I had coffee.”

With a shake of his head, Maedhros set the satchel on Erestor’s desk and untied it.  “Coffee is not food. I picked something up for you from the market on my way here.” From the satchel, he pulled two pastries, enrobed in paper, and set one in front of Fingon, mindful of the paperwork.  “You still like cherry?”

“Yes, thank you.”  Fingon set his quill down and began to unwrap his unexpected breakfast.  “Maitimo, we should probably talk about--what are those?” Fingon straightened up to see what else Maedhros was pulling from the satchel.

“Books.  Books that belong here, I believe.”  Maedhros looked at the spine for one of them.  “Great Telerin Archers of the First Age.” He set this one down as Fingon furrowed his brow and picked up each in turn.  “Ornate Arrow Fletching. A Treatise on Galvorn. The Terrors of Glaurung. The Dragon-Helm of Dor-lómin.”

“Those are Beleg’s,” Fingon realized.

Maedhros opened the cover of one of the books.  “According to this, they belong to this library.”  He took the stack and deposited them on Fingon’s desk.

Fingon licked his lips.  “This is some sort of test or something.”

“No, honey.  This is...reality.  Are you waiting for him to bring them back here?  Are you going to keep them forever? This is step one in letting go.  These did not even belong to him.”

After a moment, Fingon stood up and picked up the pile.  He left the office with Maedhros trailing after him, and went to Cessanya.  “Can you please check these in, and if there are fines, they can be waived.”  Fingon turned around after handing off the books. “There.”

Maedhros gave Fingon a sad smile and ushered him toward the office.  “I am very proud of you. How do you feel?”

“I want to hit something or throw something right now,” Fingon said only after they were back in the office.  “I suppose you want me to take down all of the things from the wall and throw them in the rubbish bin when we get home.”

“No.”  Maedhros sat down in Erestor’s chair and unwrapped his own breakfast.  “I took everything off the wall already.”

Fingon raised his head, his expression one of confusion.  “You did what?”

Before anything more could be confirmed, Cessanya knocked on the doorway and stepped inside.  “Sorry to bother you, but I just checked the first three, and all of them have notes on their cards that they were billed and paid for.”

“They were paid already?” asked Fingon, dumbfounded.  

Cessanya nodded.  “It looks like the person who checked them out...Bleg?”

“Beleg,” corrected Maedhros.

“That must be it.  He came in years ago and paid for them.”

“In person, or did he send correspondence?” queried Fingon.

“The notes say he came in person, and thought they were misplaced and he wanted to settle the account.  We replaced one of them. What do you want me to do?”

“Check them all,” said Fingon numbly.  “And...put them back in circulation...write up a credit for the accounts office to pay back to him.”  After Cessanya left, Maedhros stood up and closed the door. Fingon leaned back in his chair. “He came to the island and never told me.”

“Honey…” Maedhros placed his hand on Fingon’s shoulder. “I am so sorry.” The redhead perceived he occupied a tenuous position. On one hand he was nudging his lover quite hard to turn aside from an unhealthy fixation...which is exactly why claiming that he was sorry to hear that what he feared to be the case was true...might sound more than a little disingenuous. Perhaps if he clarified. “I am sorry for the hurt you must feel.”

Fingon ran a hand through his hair and sighed as he rested his forehead against his palm.  “I suppose I just thought he would still come and visit or...something. I am not really hurt, just...something. I wish I even knew.  Every time I wrote to him, I told him how happy I was for him, and how he did not have to make any special trips to see me...and I guess he took my words without reading between the lines.” He looked up at Maedhros.  “He is not coming back. At least, not in my life, not how he was. He always told me he could never make me happy because he needed to focus on one person, and he knew...I mean, I did tell him everything.”

“And he knew that you wanted more than one mate?” Maedhros probed gently.

Fingon traced a finger along the edge of his desk.  “He knew that I was in love with Erestor. Before Faelion and Glorfindel left.  Before Beleg was gone.” Fingon looked over to Maedhros and said, “Beleg knew what my desires were.  He also knew that I was willing to...give that up, if Erestor...if he, if Erestor, had told me we could only be with each other...I would have.”

Maedhros frowned, struggling to clearly understand Fingon’s complexities. “He recognized that you loved Erestor so much that you would be monogamous with Erestor if you could be together and Erestor required it, but at the time Erestor was committed to Glorfindel and sort of Faelion?” He very much hoped he had this right. “And he recognized that there would be no room for him if you succeeded and he wanted to give you that chance?”

Fingon nodded to everything that Maedhros said, all the while twisting at his hair with his left hand.  “Pretty much,” he said softly.

“Then I love him for loving you.” Kneeling down, Maedhros held Fingon reassuringly. “He set you free to have your heart’s desire, and that is a rare quality in elf or man. For Erestor did love you, and so did Glorfindel, and so do I, sweetie.”

“I rarely told him how much I loved him, and now...I mean…”  Fingon blinked as he felt his eyes water. “Even kings cannot have all that they desire, but...I made the best choices.  I know I did. I have a hard time not second and third guessing.” Fingon put his arms around Maedhros. “I bet that wall could use a fresh coat of paint.”

“Sweetie...what if we were to make it into a room for...like, last night Gildor shared the bed with Glorfindel and Erestor. What if there are future nights when you share a bed with Gildor and I? I imagine that going forward we will probably migrate as to where we sleep when necessity or desire demands it. Then the room would not just be washed over, but it would add new memories to the good ones you already have of that place?”

“I suppose that leads into one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.  I did not want to assume that what happened last night would...that we would repeat that.”  Fingon held his breath.

“I...why would we not?” Maedhros asked, confused. “Did I do something that made you uncomfortable? Or…” He caught himself. “I need to let you tell me and not trot out ten guesses…” He pinched his lips shut and looked at Fingon hopefully, knowing he must look very silly.

“It was just so...nice.  It was how things used to be between us, and I...see, this is me second guessing again.”  Fingon rubbed his head. “I think you and Gildor would like that room, and I like the idea of sometimes spending the night with you--both of you, though, if last night was hard to get any sleep, I have no idea how any of us sleep at all if Gildor is added into the mix.”

“Finya,” Maedhros nuzzled him. “Do kings not have secretaries? Staff? You will have lovers that shall ensure your desires are met, and I promise you shall also sleep. I equally promise that you will ravish, and be ravished in return.” A peck to the cheek was bestowed. “Allow your humble servant to care for such trivial matters.”

Fingon hugged Maedhros and rested his chin on his shoulder.  “I do not suppose humble servants are able to assist with the writing of schedules or helping with inventory?  Erestor was going to work today, but he left a note for me about some sort of project he is doing off-campus.”

With a kiss to Fingon’s cheek, Maedhros answered. “I am told that I have passable penmanship, and I am at your disposal for however I may assist you. I only await your instruction.”

“I need these lists compared to these,” said Fingon as he shifted to get to his work.  “That is good for the start of it. If you can get through them by lunch, I would be grateful.  Also, since you took me to lunch yesterday, if you plan to stay here for the day, I think it only fair I return the favor today.”

A happy face looked back at him. “I gladly accept, and would like nothing better. Well, almost nothing,” he grinned.

  
  


###  Afternoon, Day 22

While Erestor had left the house early, with secret plans for the day, Glorfindel and Gildor were at the market making more than a few coins for the household.  “Getting done at the market before noon is starting to spoil me,” Glorfindel said in a playful scolding voice as he and Gildor folded the cloth that usually adorned the table in the stall Glorfindel used. 

“You deserve to be spoiled.  You create masterpieces--I just charm people until they realize how nice your art would look on their walls.”  Gildor carried the cloth to the carriage while Glorfindel folded up the legs of the table. “You know, instead of heading back home right away, we could have lunch out here--my treat for getting to dine with such a talented artist.”

“Stop,” Glorfindel said with a roll of his eyes as he smiled.  “You did such a great job of selling everything, I feel I should be the one treating you.”

“Well then, you can treat me, and I will treat you,” Gildor suggested.  “Where do you want to go?”

“The Peacock?” Glorfindel asked.

“Sounds perfect.  What if you go and get a table for us, and I will find a place to park the carriage while we dine.”

As soon as Glorfindel turned a corner, Gildor walked the horses pulling the carriage briskly down the road until he saw a group of elflings sitting on a stoop playing marbles.  “You there,” he said, pointing to the eldest, who appeared bored. The girl sat up. “Want to make some money this afternoon?” he asked as he fished a coin from his pocket. She nodded.  He tossed the coin to her, which she caught. “I need you to walk my horses down to the open pasture so they can graze and rest. Keep an eye on them, and keep my carriage from getting in the mud, and I will double what you have there when I come to collect them.”

The youngling scrambled over and took hold of the lead for the horses.  Gildor looked around to get his bearings and saw his destination. He took a deep breath and steered himself in the direction of the open doors of the temple. 

\---

“I started to think you got lost,” Glorfindel said as Gildor sat down at the table Glorfindel was at.

Gildor lifted his arms up.  “Even if I did, I would have found this place!”  As a server passed, he snapped his fingers and pointed to a tall blue drink with cherries and orange slices on a stick.  “Whatever that is, I want one when you come back this way.” Gildor picked up the menu. 

“I already ordered for us,” Glorfindel said.

Gildor dropped the menu back onto the table.  “What am I having?”

“Mushroom and spinach cream soup to start, and the special today is a red pepper risotto with roasted vegetables and a beet salad.”

“Sounds delicious,” Gildor said.  “And you are having…?”

“Steak.  Medium rare.”  Glorfindel smirked.  “While I respect what you are doing, and what Erestor has done for a long time, I am always going to be a carnivore.”

“I would not want you any other way.”  As soon as Gildor had his drink, he clinked it against the glass of wine on Glorfindel’s side of the table.  “To friends, family, and fun, and a vacation that for me, will never end.”

Glorfindel chuckled. “I am not certain I would apply the word ‘vacation.’ Perhaps…’visit’ that never ends? But I think you will be wonderful. I already do think you are wonderful. Your energy and enthusiasm have done so much for us already. Not to mention it looks like a home now and not like three gay men that lack interior decorating skills are running the place.” Glorfindel grinned, his mental imagery gaining steam. “Just wait until Erestor finally gets his fruit orchard and we are peeking at each other over boxes of plums. And peaches and other yummy--you know what, I should find something else to talk about, this is a public setting. Either way, I am glad to have you. I feel like all these long-sundered relationships are recreating themselves and it is...beautiful.”

“It really is lovely.  Do you know, it took a lot of energy for me to be angry at Erestor for all of those years, and in such a horrible way.  I missed the friendship he and I had. And obviously what you and I had, and what Fingon and I shared back when I used to work for him.”  Gildor held out his beverage again. “To us. All of us.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel smiled. “There were so many years when I was sure you and I would marry, even though we both know I wanted someone else more who just could not see the light. In a way, those years were so hard, and yet I still remember you fondly--even if there were times you hurt me so badly I did not know if I would ever recover.” Rosy lips twisted into a half-grimace. “I was so naive. I feel like you protected me from many things in your own crazy way. Mostly I am glad that all that is behind us and that we have what we do now.” With a firm  _ clink _ , Glorfindel tapped his glass against Gildor’s. “To all of us.”

“Excuse us,” said a blond ellon who approached the table.  He had a glass of beer in his hand and a giant peachy-pink flower tucked behind his ear.  “Sorry to eavesdrop--did I overhear you say you used to work for King Fingon?” Beside him, his quiet companion, holding a sparkling ornate glass of green liquid, smiled at the pair at the table.

“Yes, honey,” Gildor preened, fluffing his hair out a little bit . “Worked for, spied for, fought for...I was quite the busy bee in those days! Gildor Inglorion, at your service, and may I introduce my esteemed companion Glorfindel. Care to join us?”

“Gildor!  Ah, I did not recognize you!  I love your hair! You probably do not remember me--Laechenn, I used to live in Lothlorien.  This is my husband, Illiholmo,” he said, tugging his companion closer to the table. “I had no idea you worked for Fingon!” said Laechenn as he slid into a chair.  Illiholmo glanced around apologetically to the others as he sat down slowly in the fourth seat.

“Oh! Yes! Of course!  Glorfindel, I do not know if you remember Laechenn.  He would occasionally join my little walking parties in the wilderness.  Imagine seeing you here! We live here, you see. At least, I live here now, but what started out as a vacation grew on us! Glorfindel has lived here for some time and--oh, listen to me, going on and on. Our luncheon here is to celebrate my permanence and my personality.”

Glorfindel noticed that Illiholmo was unprepared for the force of nature named Gildor, and tried to steer the conversation into calmer waters. “I am pleased to meet both of you. You have some connection to Fingon?” he asked politely.

“Uhm...we...met him yesterday,” said Illiholmo.  He glanced across the table at his mate.

Laechenn sipped his beer and then nodded.  “He was here with his husband. It was really great to meet them.  They were delightful to talk to.”

“Ah--so you met Erestor,” said Gildor as he lifted his blue concoction.

“Uhm...I...yes, I knew of Erestor, when he would come to Lorien on diplomatic missions.”

Glorfindel cocked his head to the side.  “Who was with Fingon yesterday?”

“His--”  Laechenn frowned.  “Or...hmm.” Laechenn looked across the table at Illiholmo.  “We never asked, did we? I suppose…we just assumed…” Laechenn looked uncertain.

“You said Fingon is married to someone named Erestor?” asked Illiholmo following an awkward pause.

Glorfindel held his head proudly. “It is a little confusing. Our family has entered into plural marriages, or at least some of us have. I call Erestor and Fingon husband. Gildor has been with Maedhros, whom you likely met yesterday, for a very long time. Erestor is wed to Fingon and I. And given that Gildor and Mae never had a formal ceremony...” he looked up at Gildor and saw no warning or objection in his eyes. “...this weekend there will be a wedding. I know it is unusual but in this ever-unfolding family of our choosing we have found our happiness. Some of that is not widely known in this place but…” he gestured around them. “I am certain any of us dining here understand discretion.”

Illiholmo placed a hand upon his breast and looked moved by Glorfindel’s words.  “That is beautiful. Congratulations,” he said to Gildor, who gave him a small smile.  “Weddings are such a blessing. So often they are the only time to see the whole family together without drama.”

Laechenn tilted his head to the side.  “What part of your family at our wedding was without drama?” he tried to recall.

If Illiholmo heard, he pretended not to.  “I just...I love weddings. I hope yours is full of joyful bliss, and that the weather is sunny, and everything goes perfectly as planned for it,” he told Gildor.

Darting a glance at Glorfindel, Gildor patted Illihomo gently on the arm. “You both seem so lovely. Would you like to join us? It will be a very special occasion. I must be honest; I can hardly wait!”

Glorfindel smiled. Gildor had said that about most every party since Gondolin, to his knowledge. “Yes, it would be lovely to have you, if you would like to?”

Illiholmo’s eyes widened.  “I would be more than honored to attend.  And...will, uh, all of you be there? Fingon included?”

Laechenn smirked.

“We all will be there,” Glorfindel said. “Many family and friends, too. Fingon would not miss something so important to someone close to him.”

“We will most certainly attend,” said Laechenn.  “In fact, I expect it will be the highlight of our vacation!”

  
  


###  Evening, Day 22

Maedhros and Fingon were greeted by Asfaloth when they arrived home.  The stallion, in his pseudo-elven form, sat on the front stoop with something folded in his lap.  When the pair approached, Asfaloth stood and extended his arms out in front of him. “These are for you,” he said firmly.

Maedhros arched a brow.  “What are they?” he asked.

“Master Elrond has instructed me to instruct you to put these on and to proceed to exam room number one.”  Asfaloth frowned. “No, wait--proceed to exam room number one, and then put these on. No need to distress the neighbors by getting dressed, er, undressed, on the lawn.”

Fingon fingered the fabric of one of the thin white robes.  “Are we both supposed to go into the same room?”

Asfaloth leaned down a little and spoke quietly from one elf to the other.  “I hate to break it to both of you, but this is not a real clinic, and we have been under a lot of budget constraints.  We only have one exam room, and the same room is the consultation room, too. We just turn the chair around the other way and open the curtains.”

Maedhros took not only his robe but also the one intended for Fingon as well.  “Come on. I hear if you are a good boy, you get a lolly when we finish.”

“I feel Gildor is missing an opportunity for an inappropriate comment right now,” Fingon said, but he followed Maedhros into the house.  They were surprised to encounter Celebrían just inside the house, standing to block their path to the kitchen should they choose to try to go that way.  “This is new,” Fingon remarked of the sign that hung over the entryway of the sitting room proclaiming them to be at the Imladris Memorial Free Clinic. It appeared to have been painted in Glorfindel’s hand.

“I see you are right on time.  We are so fortunate we were able to reschedule you from yesterday,” said Celebrían cheerfully.  “Right this way,” she said, motioning them to enter the sitting room.

“After you,” Maedhros said as he extended his arm toward the doorway.  Fingon sighed and grabbed the robe from the top of the pile Maedhros had and continued along the path, which, per the signs hung in the room, led them through to the bedrooms on the first floor.  Just beyond the room that Asfaloth had claimed was a room that had been tidied up and arranged much like a typical healing room, except that there were two beds instead of one. 

“Please change out of your clothing.  The healer will be in to see you momentarily,” said Celebrían before closing the door behind them.

Fingon dropped the robe onto the nearest bed.  “You would have told me if you had known they were going to play pretend with this, right?”

“I thought the sign was cute, but, yes, this is weird.  Maybe they think it makes it easier?” Maedhros was already following orders and had stripped to the waist.  “Anyhow, the sooner we comply, the sooner this is over.”

Fingon groaned and removed his shoes, but then sat down on the bed.  “I feel like I am being treated like a child.”

“You are, sweetie. That is the point of the thing, when you have dodged medical care for...how long is it now? Are we counting the avoidance in years, decades, or centuries?” Maedhros asked engagingly.

“I let him mend my legs when I broke them,” muttered Fingon.  He pulled off one sock and threw it against the wall.

“I should certainly hope so. You...you make it sound like there was some coercion involved on the part of others.” In softer tones Maedhros added, “I think this is something about which I do not know. What happened, Finya?”

As he balled up the other sock, Fingon stared down at the floor, lost in thoughts of ages long past.  He licked his lips and looked up at Maedhros. “Lock the door,” he requested softly.

Without hesitation, the redhead did as he was asked, seating himself next to Fingon and taking his hand.

After what seemed several minutes of Fingon doing nothing more than fixating on the fibers of the rug and holding Maedhros’ hand as his own trembled, Fingon said, “My former coach was not the only person to...take advantage of young athletes.  I...I found it hard to know sometimes who had only the best intentions and who was there for...some sort of personal gain.” He squirmed and slid his hand from Maedhros, lacing his own hands together. “For instance...a few years after the coach, there was a massage therapist who would spend a lot of extra time on some of us.  I thought it was, you know...I had myself convinced it was part of the regimen. There were things he did, though...sometimes I even told him I had more stress in my shoulders or something, and he would insist on working on my thighs for a really long time, and...he would...his hand would brush things...I just kept telling myself he had a different technique, and, compared to the coach...but a couple of times…”  Fingon took a deep breath. “A couple of times he would tell me to close my eyes because it would help with focus, and then he would…” He motioned his hand in the air a few times, and whispered, “...touch me...in a way to get me aroused...and told me it was to help with blood flow...and while I could not see, I think he was touching himself and that was why he made me keep my eyes closed. And at another gym, there was healer, and...I am trying really hard not to panic, and I know it is Elrond, and I know he will not hurt me, but deep down inside there is a terrified child who just wants people to--”  The words broke off as Fingon bowed his head and covered his face, shoulders shaking.

“Come here, Finya. Come here to me. You did nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all. That can never happen again for I am here to protect you--and I am not the only one. Thank you for telling me. You were brave to speak when I know how hard it was.” Coaxing Fingon into his arms, he held him gently, whispering endearments and praise. “The shame is not yours, my love. None of it.”

Fingon, sniffling and barefooted, curled up in Maedhros’ lap and nuzzled his head against Maedhros’ chest until a knock came on the door and someone tried the knob.  “Probably Elrond,” Fingon whispered.

Without undue difficulty, Maedhros rose with Fingon in his arms and unlocked the door, opening it. Elrond’s look of surprise was met with one of silent warning from Maedhros that not all was well. Then the pair resumed their original position. “Sweetie, would you allow me to tell Elrond what you just told me? He is here to help you in all aspects, not only the physical.”

The expression worn by Fingon as he looked into Maedhros’ eyes showed that, no thank you, he did not want any of that he said repeated to anyone.  Ever. He swallowed hard and wrapped his arms tightly around Maedhros as Elrond shut and locked the door before sitting down slowly and calmly as far from them as he could maneuver the chair.  “If you think it would help,” Fingon finally said.

Maedhros split the difference, gazing up at Elrond. “I will respect his desire, and not disclose details. And I will go against his desire, and simply inform you that he was sexually abused more than he previously has shared, and that it included healers associated with his gymnasium. That is why this examination is a struggle for him, though he loves you and is aware you are beyond reproach.” Turning to Fingon, he spoke directly to him. “I do think it will help, because that is the road to healing. I am here to be your strength when your own falters. If it is your wish what you have said will not leave this room, but I would encourage you to not withhold this forever from your husbands.” With a reverent kiss to Fingon’s head, Maedhros simply held him, waiting to see what Elrond would do.

“Let me give both of you a few more minutes.  I do not want to rush, and yet, the faster we begin, the quicker we will be done.  While I will also respect your wishes if you decide to cancel this, from a professional standpoint, and this is directed mostly at Fingon, in the short time I have been here to see how you push yourself, you should really have someone examine you in the near future just to make sure the regimen you have self-prescribed is not doing more harm than good,” said Elrond.  “I am going to go back out; I really do need you to wear something loose for the examination. This new information, while disturbing, will help me to do all in my power to keep you from undue discomfort.” Elrond stood up and left the room.

Maedhros continued to hold and rock Fingon. “What are your thoughts, Finya?”

“The longer I wait, the more it eats at me,” Fingon replied.

“Then I will help you through it,” Maedhros assured. “What is it you need? To touch me? For me to keep a hand on you? To just be very near? I will do anything I can to aid you.”

Fingon considered all of the options.  “When he examines me, if you are willing to hold my hand, that might help.  I think. I cannot know for sure.”

“Then I shall do that, call Elrond back, and if you need more as we go along, I will find a means to give it.” Maedhros rose and gently placed Fingon seated on the bed, and did as promised. He finished dressing himself in the simple robe, and then aided Fingon in doing the same.  Once at the doorway he quietly asked: “Elrond?”

The door opened and Elrond stepped back inside.  “Would it be easier to complete one exam and then the other, or to go through a little slower on perform each element on both of you before moving on?”

“I think Fingon needs to have this over with,” Maedhros said, watching his lover’s face carefully. “Please examine him first? I am content for you to do as you wish afterward; he can stay or exit when you examine me according to what makes him feel best. Love? Is that what you want?”

“I just...I just want you here,” Fingon said.

Elrond motioned to one of the beds, upon which there were fresh linens.  “If you are ready, then, I would have you lie on your back. I would like to start with testing reflexes.”

Maedhros held Fingon’s hand firmly, and guided him to lie down, not letting go. “He asked me to hold his hand, Elrond. So I will do that, and if you need one of his hands then I shall move to the other side. I will try to keep out of your way.”

Elrond worked his way through the typical tests for general wellness.  Throughout, he asked a variety of questions that were seemingly unrelated to whatever he was doing to try to distract Fingon.  These ranged from whether there was any noticeable joint pain as of late to what broken bones Fingon knew of over the last fifty years.  When he reached a question about headaches, Fingon’s hesitation caused Elrond to shift his assessment. “Can you please sit up? I want to check for any abnormalities in your skull structure.”

Maedhros helped Fingon to sit on the bed with his back to Elrond, who began his exam at the base of Fingon’s back, pressing gently and questioning if anything hurt or caused discomfort.  He reached a point along Fingon’s spine and his patient winced. Concentrating on that point, Elrond asked, “Do you often crack your neck or back?”

“What would be frequent?”

“At least once a day,” said Elrond.

Fingon nodded as Elrond continued upwards.  “When I get up, usually, and after that, depends on what I am doing.  Physical activity seems to alleviate the pain.”

“So it hurts when you do that?”

“Sometimes.”

Elrond worked up to Fingon’s neck and then around the base of his skull.  When he felt the back of Fingon’s head through his hair, he slowed and shifted a glance at Maedhros, but did not offer any indication of his findings.  A few times, Elrond switched to running a single finger through the hair follicles instead of all of the fingers of both hands. “May I speak to you of your health in front of Maedhros?” he asked.

Fingon squeezed Maedhros’ hand.  “That would be fine.”

“I believe that your spine is not ideally aligned.  While this is something I can try to correct, I also know that I am out of practice and I could do more harm than good.  There are a lot of people I know on the mainland who are experts; I have gone to some of them myself. I would strongly suggest you seek out someone who is able to offer at least a few sessions with you, if not someone who can regularly give you chiropractic care,” said Elrond.  “I think that could help with less frequency of your headaches.”

“That would be very good,” encouraged Maedhros.

Elrond touched Fingon’s skull again and said, “What I am finding up here is a little trickier to analyze.  If I could see everything, I might have better answers, but I am not going to have you shave your head so I can examine it further.  You have a significant indentation. When I run my fingers along your head, I hit a place where there is a divot that feels like an injury that caused your skull to split open and then mend itself together again.  I think we can all agree on what that is, and that whatever ‘mending’ occurred was not the slow process regulated by your body, but a necessity in allowing you to be reborn. That said, I do not think this is the cause of your headaches.  I think it is either the spine irregularity, or, something else I have yet to find, or, an effect of elevated stress levels. When you lived by yourself in the theatre, did you have as many headaches as you do now?”

Fingon shook his head.  “No, but I still had them.”

“I am going to have you turn around with your legs over the side of the bed.  I want to take a look at your ears, nose, and throat.” Once Fingon was in position, Elrond retrieved a tiny object that looked like a wand upon which was attached a small gem with a faint glow to it.  He started by looking into Fingon’s ears, during which Fingon dug his fingers into Maedhros’ palm and whimpered slightly. “Does that hurt?” asked Elrond with worry.

When Fingon only blushed, Maedhros whispered to Elrond, “He has a lot of sensitivity in that area.”

Elrond gave a single nod and moved onwards, shining the light into each of Fingon’s nostrils, and then at the back of his throat.  Another tool was retrieved, and Elrond used it to press down on each of Fingon’s teeth and against his gums. When he reached a point near the back, Fingon practically jumped off of the bed.  “I am sorry,” Elrond said almost immediately. “I need to check something in there again, and I will apologize now, because I doubt it will be pleasant.”

“Do you think this is related to his headaches?” asked Maedhros as he rubbed Fingon’s back and continued to hold his hand.  Elrond had gone to retrieve a different tool as well as a larger and brighter light.

“There is a problem,” was all Elrond would say.  “You most likely have some sort of muscle tenderness in this area?”

“I have a throbbing pain that I get sometimes when I increase my activity.  It hurts when I smile, and the pain sometimes goes all the way to my eye or my ear.”

Elrond pulled the small table with his implements across the room and set it near the bed.  “I am going to need to get someone to assist me. I can ask Celebrían, but I could also find Gildor or Glorfindel if you would prefer.  Can you open your mouth for me again? Try not to move too much this time.” Fingon did as instructed, and Elrond completed the rest of his examination before he returned to the spot that had caused discomfort.  This time, Fingon shook but managed not to move. “You have soft tissue under your gums in the back on the right side,” explained Elrond as he began to disinfect a variety of tools, including what appeared to be a tiny scalpel with a very sharp blade.

“What are you going to do?” asked Maedhros.

Elrond looked up, but at Fingon.  “I would like to perform a procedure that will give you what I expect will be almost instant relief.  There is an infection inside your jaw. The gums are acting as a barrier--while it is not getting to another part of your body, it cannot be expelled.  Very slowly, it has been...feeding off of the bone there. You may lose the tooth furthest back depending on how bad the infection is, but if nothing is done, it will continue to hurt, and could eventually eat away at the entire jaw.  Do you understand?”

“What are you going to do?” asked Fingon, his eyes wide and looking at the equipment on the tray.

“I numb it.  I place a device in your mouth to keep your tongue down and block anything that oozes out from going down your throat, because we do not want you to swallow any of it.  I make an incision and irrigate the bone, which should wash out the infection. I will treat it with something to kill anything that is left, and then very carefully use sutures to hold the skin together.  Then you will need to rest sitting up, and keep some absorbent pads gently in your mouth to absorb the blood until it clots, and then you need to limit what you eat, at least for a few days.”

“Will he need to stay home?” asked Maedhros when Fingon did not respond.

“Tonight, yes, but this should not affect his ability to work, if that is what you meant.  No heavy activity, though, not until the wound is mended. Liquids and very soft food tonight, nothing with small particles or crunchy for the next few days.  If you go to work, you take a horse. I may have other stipulations, but right now, I want to get this out of you, if you will let me.”

“If it makes me feel better, you can do whatever you want,” said Fingon.  “Can Maedhros stay?”

“I would honestly like him to wait outside of the room, but if him being here is the difference between doing the procedure and not, I can work around that,” said Elrond.

“What if I did the assisting?” asked Maedhros.

“I think I want to employ someone with a little more healing experience, Ada, but I think I can have you help in another way.”  Elrond fluffed some pillows at the other bed and propped them up at the headboard. “If you sit up here, Fingon can sit in front of you, and then there will be more stability because the back of his head will be against your chest when we do the procedure.”

“And I will have my arms around you, sweetie,” Maedhros told Fingon gently. “I think you would like that? I am very happy to be your seat. Chair. You know. Then we will have you all fixed up.”

It was hard to tell if Fingon was nodding or shaking.  Elrond moved his instruments so they were easily accessible at the other table and patted the bed.  “Right here, please.”

Maedhros stepped in front of Fingon, carefully placing his long fingers to tilt up Fingon’s chin. “Are you ready to do this, sweetie? Is there anything you feel like you need to tell either of us?”

Fingon sighed and shook his head.  He pushed himself up from the bed so that he was standing beside Maedhros.  “You first, I guess,” he said.

Arranging himself as Elrond had specified, Maedhros opened his arms to Fingon. “I promise I will make it up to you,” he winked humorously.

With another steadying breath, Fingon crawled up onto the other bed and sat himself as far back as he could, nestling himself against Maedhros.  Elrond presented him with a small silver vessel. “Do not drink this,” warned Elrond. “Just swish it around your mouth while you count to ten, no gargling, and then you are going to spit it into this,” he said of a small bowl he had in his other hand.  “Do not swallow. I will have something else for you to rinse your mouth with right after. Questions?”

“What does this do?” asked Fingon as he took the small vessel in his hands.

“It is going to numb the inside of your mouth.  That is why I do not want you to swallow it. While it will not kill you, it will make it unpleasant, and you will either have quite the upset stomach, or, end up vomiting violently.”  Elrond held the bowl just in front of Fingon after draping a towel over Fingon’s lap. 

Trembling for certain now, Fingon followed Elrond’s instructions.  After rinsing with the second liquid, he spat several times to be sure he ingested as little as possible of the medicinal concoctions. “How long does it take?” asked Fingon after Elrond wiped the corners of Fingon’s mouth and took away the bowl and the empty vessels.  

“At least a few minutes,” said Elrond.  He brought back a cloth to drape as a bib over Fingon and then eased Fingon’s head back.  “Rest. I am going to find Celebrían so that we can get started.” Elrond left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Elrond!” Maedhros yelled at the door. “Something for anxiety would really not go amiss!” Whether or not he had been heard (he guessed he was), he turned his attention to Fingon. “It will be alright, sweetie. I promise you.” Kisses were lavished on the back and crown of the dark head. “You will feel better, I am sure of it. I know it is hard. It is alright to be wound up about this. Nobody sensible enjoys dental work.”

“I am so cold,” whispered Fingon.  “Do you think it is the weather, or whatever he gave me?  Would that make me cold? It was warm out today when we walked back.”

“You are cold because you are anxious,” Maedhros answered sympathetically. Moving his long legs somewhat awkwardly, he wrapped them around Fingon’s a little bit. The position was not comfortable at all for him, but if it brought his lover serenity then it was worth any inconvenience. “I will ask them for something warming straight away when they return.”

“My feet are the most cold,” Fingon said.  “And my arms.” He tried to curl his toes in to conserve what warmth he did feel there.  “Maybe...maybe we should wait until the weekend. Except...you leave then. Or...are you?  Did that ever get discussed? What is taking them so long…”

“I strongly feel you should get this over with,” Maedhros pushed back, but not forcefully. “I am here with you, and you will feel better when it is drained. I do not like the idea of an infection in your head, sweetie.” He dropped his voice. “I want to know that when I share intimacy with you that there is no means by which you can experience discomfort from something that could be treated. I want you thinking only of me, and what pleasures I will give you,” he growled quietly, murmuring into the back of his lover’s neck. All his will was focused on using his arts to distract and bend Fingon toward his own best interests. In the meantime, he redoubled his efforts to cover the places that Fingon said were cold, squeezing, rubbing, and coiling his limbs where he could.

“You realize this is the first time in a long time we have been in bed together.  I just wish it was under different circumstances, but I am glad you are here.”

Maedhros frowned, for that made no....oh. Perhaps there was a slight problem... “Sweetie, what day is tomorrow? I suddenly feel forgetful.”

“Tomorrow is the yesterday of the future,” Fingon replied, but his words were slow and slightly slurred.  “It happened just last week.”

“Ah. I am glad you remembered,” Maedhros smiled, snuggling Fingon against him. “I am so glad I am here with you also, Finya. It is not often I am in a bed with such a handsome man. With the loveliest eyes in the world, and a body that anyone would wish to admire. Such a gifted athlete, too,” he whispered, piling it on. Why should he not? 

“We should move to the country.  Buy some horses. Move to the country.”  Fingon suddenly giggled. “You know, I was not always like this.  I thought...who knows, maybe, right? Maglor told me. He and I were...somewhere...party...something…”  Fingon’s gaze drifted to the window for a moment. He seemed done, but then started up again. “Told me about you.  You...and boys...Maglor told me.” Fingon reached blindly over his shoulder to poke at Maedhros’ nose. “And I thought, maybe, you know...you were pretty pretty...you still are pretty pretty...so I thought, maybe....sure, why not, because...you were cute.  You still are.” The words were coming slower, but far more sincerely, and sounded like Fingon had a swollen tongue. “Turns out I like boys, too. I guess I like girls, and I like boys, and...everything in between, apparently.”

“I like you, too,” Maedhros smiled, having some trouble not laughing. Where in hell was Elrond? “I like the idea of living in the country. Horses, too. I am told I ride pretty well,” he added.  _ Elrond? Hurry? Please??  _ He needed to be saved from himself, just now.

\----

Covering the table was every bottle and jar of spices to be found in the entire house, and several other substances for cooking as well.  While Gildor carefully examined each and proclaimed what was contained within, Erestor carefully wrote a little paper label for them. These were pasted on by Gildor and set aside to dry before he moved to the next.  Their work was quiet for a while, each with thoughts of the examinations that Elrond was conducting on their mind. Something else tugged at Gildor’s brain, and he finally took a deep breath after labeling ‘turmeric’ and paused before picking up another container.  “Erestor, I have a...confession? Mhhnn...that sounds like I am trying to be witty about it. I went to the temple today.”

Immediately, Erestor set the quill he was using aside and reached across with both hands to take one of Gildor’s.  “Yes?”

“Uh…”  Gildor gave Erestor’s hands a squeeze, but then shook his hand gently free.  “I...I had some questions for the cleric there, and...long story short, he suggested that I...that I pray for the return of Maedhros’ hand.”  Gildor studied Erestor’s face. “So...what do you think about that?”

“It certainly cannot hurt,” Erestor reasoned.  “Eru works in mysterious--”

“Right.  All-powerful.  I know.” Gildor sighed.  “It just...it seems too easy.  It seems...so if I do, and nothing happens--”

“If you think you can just do it once and the next morning, boom, he has another hand--”

“I get that.  I just…” Gildor sighed again.  “Do you know how many people I heard praying to Eru when we crossed the Helcaraxë?  Do you know how many of them had their prayers answered? We were lost. Abandoned.”

Erestor scratched his neck.  “Do you know how many times I prayed to Him, called out to Him, in the darkness of Angband?  How often I prayed until I had no voice left for Him to hear me when I was captive after Gondolin fell?  If you want instant gratification, then, no, this is not the path to it, but if you want to ask Him to put another plan in motion--”

“Wait--another plan?  I thought he was supposed to have this ‘one plan’, this ‘ultimate design’.”

“If that were the case, why would we have choices?” prodded Erestor.

Gildor frowned and picked up a bottle of dill.  “It seems a waste of time to bother.”

“Why?  Would you not do anything for Maedhros?”

“Of course I would!” Gildor countered a little louder than intended.  He cleared his throat. “Of course I would. I just cannot believe, after all this time, that Eru would even listen to me.”

“My thought is, you have to start somewhere.  I guess I feel that there is a partnership in life with Eru.  A mostly silent partnership, which He conducts with everyone, and it can be difficult for Him to see to the needs of everyone at the same time.  There are expectations for all of us--for us to take care of our own needs and each other, and do what we are capable with the abilities and talents He gave us and the skills we learn.  And then, there are those times when we reach out to Him--for guidance, for strength, for love, and for faith. He loves you, Gildor, just as He loves everything He has made--including my father.  I am convinced that despite everything, He still has love within Him for Morgoth. And if that is true, then He certainly has love for you, Gildor. You have grown in the years I have known you, especially in these years in Valinor, and I think He can see that.  I do not think what you ask is beyond His ability; I think it is only a matter of how long, and how, and if it is part of...let us say, a plan, and not ‘the’ plan.”

Gildor listened without interruption this time, and when Erestor was finished, he set the bottle on the table and slid it to Erestor.  “Dill,” he said, followed by, “I wish you had been at that temple today. That cleric over there is nice, but I felt by the end that we were just having an argument.”

“You probably were,” Erestor said with a smirk as he wrote the label.

Gildor dabbed a brush into glue and applied a little to the outside of the jar in preparation.  “Erestor?”

“Yes?” 

“Do you ever miss...all that religion stuff you used to do?  Blessings, and weddings, and...whatever else you were doing that I avoided participating in?”

Mist clouded Erestor’s eyes momentarily.  “All the time,” he whispered.

“Well, you talk about talents given to us, and...I do not think how you are about all this is a skill you were taught.  You have a...talent for soothing people and explaining what you believe in, and...well, if it is not part of one of his plans, it probably should be.  Just, for what it is worth.”

Erestor set down the quill and shoved the label away so that the stray tears that fell did not cause the ink to run.  “That is probably the nicest thing you have ever said to me,” he sniffled.

“Oh, Erri, I did not mean to make you cry,” apologized Gildor as he retrieved a towel from the other end of the table and handed it to Erestor.  “And here I thought ‘I love you’ was the nicest thing,” he joked. He leaned across the table and kissed Erestor’s brow. “Well. I meant it. All of it.  And thank you for listening without judgement.”

Erestor nodded.  “If you...I do not want to pressure you, but if you ever want to pray, about anything, anytime, come and find me.  Sometimes it can be difficult to know where to start.”

  
  
  


\----

  
  


“I wonder what it would be like to be a horse,” Fingon mused.  He turned his head, a little drool escaping and smearing over Maedhros’ robe.  “What would you do if we were both stallions instead of Elves? Would you go after mares like Asfaloth does and mount them all, or would you just come after me?” Fingon gazed up with his golden eyes, pupils dilated, face a little flushed, but not from embarrassment.  “Would we just run together, or would you--”

A sharp knock came upon the door, and Elrond opened it as Fingon slowly looked in that direction.  “How are we coming along? Feeling numb yet?” Elrond was followed by not only Celebrían, but Glorfindel as well.

“Ah, about that,” Maedhros said quietly, producing several gestures and goofy expressions that were intended to convey that Fingon was, at the moment, on board Vingilot with all sails set.

Elrond smirked.  “Seems we are doing quite well.  I have asked Glorfindel to assist with that as well.  While I do not want to introduce any additional medications to numb anything or help bring calm, I recognize that there are several strains of pipeweed that can be of use in these cases.  However, Celebrían and I need to be focused on our work, so Glorfindel will be helping us. He is going to...more or less infuse the room with the smoke. This, of course, means all of the three of you are going to have a reaction to it.  Then Celebrían and I will come in, but we have masks we can wear that will protect us from it. How does that sound?” Elrond looked for confirmation. 

Fingon yawned and asked, “Did you do the thing yet?”  Elrond shook his head, and Fingon yawned again.

“Wonderful,” Maedhros answered with a vaguely worried expression, having no idea what he had just agreed to but deciding he could not afford to care. “Honey, we are going to enjoy the thing now. Just think about those stallions. I know you are riding the white one.”

“No.  I am the white one,” he muttered as Elrond and Celebrían exited and the door was closed again.

Smiling at both of them and doing his utmost to hide the wistfulness he felt at the sight, Glorfindel lit the pipe-bowl he had prepared with his chosen formula for this occasion. “This sounds like being Asfaloth,” he said very softly, not really sure what had been discussed before he entered the room. He made several fascinating draws of air with his cheeks, while moving to different locations within the small room to help diffuse the smoke more quickly--and doing his best not to directly inhale.

“You would be a golden horse, with a long, long, long mane,” declared Fingon.  “Same question as I asked Mae Mae.”

“And what question would that be, Mae Mae?” Glorfindel inquired cautiously. 

“Well…” Maedhros tried to decide how best to relate it and realized there was no best way. “I believe it to be, if you and he were both stallions instead of elves, would you go after mares as does Asfaloth, or would you just pursue Fingon?” Somehow, he kept a straight face. Somehow.

“Oh!” Glorfindel exclaimed, involuntarily choking on the rather large mouthful of smoke he had not meant to inhale. “Moment!” he coughed out as he sat down upon the bed. Maedhros reached out and thumped Glorfindel on the back a few times. “Thank you,” he wheezed. “Fortunately this is easy to answer. Of course, I would just pursue Fingon. Is that really even a question?” The reply was innocent and honest, spoken with full sincerity. With a delighted smile, Glorfindel returned to his task of filling the room with a haze of pipeweed smoke.

“What if we were llamas?” Fingon’s words were slurring so much that entire sentences sounded like a drunkenly overzealous epessë.  “They bite, you know.”

Glorfindel puffed in a far more controlled fashion, stifling more smiles. Since Elrond was not yet back in the room, he leaned down to whisper what was only meant to be heard by Fingon and Maedhros. “Then, sweetheart, I would chase you around the pasture until I ran you down, and I would mount you. I would lean forward with my soft little lips and I would grab onto the back of your neck and bite you. So hard. But you would not even notice that, because I would be driving into you, ready to burst with desire.” Straightening himself, he winked at Maedhros out of Fingon’s sight.

Face flushed, eyes more than a little glazed over, Fingon declared, “Then I think we should be llamas instead of horses,” just as Elrond and Celebrían hastily came into the room.  Both were wearing hoods with masks and a beak-like attachment that hung down from where their noses and mouths would be. Celebrían had a metal bowl in her hands, and she and Elrond made some final preparations to the set-up.

“How are you feeling?” asked Elrond of Fingon when he stepped back over to the side of the bed.  When he did not receive a reply, he looked between Maedhros and Glorfindel. “I think we can probably begin.  Thank you, Glorfindel. It is up to you whether or not you wish to stay for the procedure.” Elrond’s voice was muffled behind the layers that masked him, so he spoke loud and clear.

“I will stay, unless…” Glorfindel turned his eyes to Maedhros, seeking for any sign that he might not be welcome or wanted. Finding only encouragement and a little nod, Glorfindel cleared his throat. “I will stay. He always stayed with me.”

“Very good.  In that case, Glorfindel, once you find a suitable place to place your pipe so that it is out of the way, I will have you sit at the end of the bed.”  Elrond came up to Glorfindel on one side and spoke loud enough for Glorfindel, but quietly so as not to have Fingon hear. “I want you to hold his ankles so that he does not reflexively kick someone.  You can wait until I signal you so that you do not alarm him.”

Glorfindel nodded, immediately stowing his pipe after an expert snuffing with a practiced thumb. “Can I talk to him now and ask to touch his feet? I do not think he will deny me. At least, I hope not.”

“Do as you like, but we will be starting very soon,” warned Elrond.

Celebrían was at the other side of the bed, holding up things and explaining them to Fingon.  “This is going to be placed in your mouth to keep your tongue out of the way. This is like a little slide for the gunk that is going to drain out.  So the bottom of it keeps your tongue from trying to be helpful, and the top is sloped, and it will be positioned over this.” She held up the bowl. “Your job is going to be to hold this bowl,” she told Fingon, and she placed the other instrument aside so that she could position the bowl in his hands.  “You just keep it right there, and gravity will take care of the rest. Do you have questions?”

“Does this happen a lot?” asked Fingon.

“It is not frequent, but it has happened enough that there is a procedure, and Elrond has done this before,” Celebrían said comfortingly.  “How are you feeling?”   
  
“I have a headache,” Fingon said.  “I want to be a llama.”

“Good.  Sounds about right.  Elrond, I think we are ready,” Celebrían said, and whether she was smiling behind the mask was anyone’s guess.

“Sweetheart, I want to rub your hooves a little. I hope that is okay,” Glorfindel said, very gently placing his hands around the tops of Fingon’s feet. “I want you to imagine that I am painting them a very pretty color. Hold still so I do not smudge the polish!”

Elrond now addressed Maedhros.  “I am going to have you use your hand to hold Fingon’s forehead so that he does not move his head around.  You can keep your other arm around his chest, Ada. As soon as you do that, I think we are ready.”

“Like this?” Maedhros questioned after he did as he was asked. Hopefully. Seeing Elrond’s mask bob in assent, he leaned lower to whisper. “Is this nice, sweetie? Just the green, green grass. No talking; just imagine how wonderful it all is.”  Grinning, Maedhros half hoped Elrond would ask.

Celebrían leaned in.  “I want you to swallow twice, and then open your mouth wide.”  She was holding the device from earlier. As Fingon did as instructed, Elrond picked up the little gem light and his scalpel, and then gave a nod to Glorfindel.

“Mmmmm, such beautiful hooves,” Glorfindel purred, as he shifted his fingers carefully. At the slightest twitch from Fingon he was prepared to bring his full strength to prevent a kick. It would probably work the first time, at least. If his love panicked then there would be a different set of problems; he considered his task to be mostly keeping Elrond or Celebrían from having a bloody lip.

As soon as Celebrían had the wider end of the implement inserted into Fingon’s mouth, he started to gag.  “Steady,” was all Elrond said in a soothing voice as he swooped in, scanned the region, made an incision, and was out again.  A moment later, he had a metal syringe with a wide nozzle that was used to flush out blood, pus, and other undesirable matter.  “You are doing very good. Just...think about all that green grass,” Elrond settled on as he retrieved another long metal implement.  This was used for a few seconds at a time, with him using the light to check quickly before returning to his task. This was done three times before he was satisfied.  The area was flushed out again, and then Elrond took a folded piece of soft, sterile cloth and positioned it in Fingon’s mouth. “I am going to get this thing out of here, and then I still need to stitch you up, but the worst part is done.” At hearing Elrond’s words, Fingon relaxed and closed his eyes.

Maedhros and Glorfindel both met each other’s eyes, visibly relieved--but not completely relaxed yet. Curiosity concerning how bad the infection had been would need to wait, out of regard for the already highly confused patient. “You did so well, sweetie. Somehow we will do something special to celebrate.”

“Yes!” Glorfindel added, almost too enthusiastically, wondering a little. “Celebrate.” Idly he fingered his ring of marriage, wondering if all the celebrations amounted to the same thing.

Immediately, Elrond began to go through restrictions, as if he knew too well himself just what celebrating typically entailed.  “Three days of restrictive activity. No gymnastics, no dancing, no physical activity of any kind which could elevate blood pressure and cause the sutures to break--most certainly any ‘celebrating’ should be placed on hold until after I have deemed it acceptable.” With the odd little mouth-slide out of the way, Elrond was able to carefully remove the bloodied cloth, sew up the wound, and place a clean piece of folded cloth back in place.  “Keep that in there to help the blood clot. Bite down, but do not press down hard, or the clotting will be delayed.”

Celebrían, meanwhile, had removed the bowl from Fingon’s grasp, and now carried it from the room.  Fingon, his body even limper than it had been when Elrond declared the worst to be over, bobbed his head once after Elrond gave his instructions, then turned his head so that the cheek of the unwounded side rested against Maedhros’ chest.

“Is he done? He can go?” Maedhros asked. 

Glorfindel processed in the meantime that Elrond meant, ‘no sex, no fun, no aggravation.’ The last one would probably be the worst challenge. Did Elrond know half the things that went on at the library?

Elrond went to the window and opened it and then began to fan the smoke that lingered out of the room. “I have not entirely completed the examination, and I think that it would be easier to do that now with him still partially sedated.  Ada, as for examining you--I think it was about four months ago when you and Gildor came to stay and I did some assessments for you both then. I honestly have not noticed anything during this stay that would lead me to believe there is reason to go through all of that again so soon, unless there was a specific thing you wanted me to look at.  My understanding is that you were trying to ease the discomfort for Fingon, but I think after I finish with him, it would be best if both of you would tend to him. Of all of you, I know my uncle the least, and yet, this ordeal has not been easy for him, and I can imagine his reaction when he realizes he is...not a llama,” Elrond settled on.

“Oh,” Glorfindel pondered. “He will remember that? Uhm…” he stared at Maedhros, as if he held some kind of solution to the current dilemma. “That might not be ideal...but I hate to, uh, be less than fully truthful.”

“We will manage,” Maedhros answered quietly. It would not be the first time, or the last, that required him to manage a mortified Fingon.

“Alright,” Glorfindel mumbled, reddening a little. He felt like he should know Fingon far better but that was a contest he would never win. No, he needed not to think about it like that. There were things only he could offer Fingon, so what if this was not one of them. “I could still paint his nails. I think he would like that.”

“I remember the first time Fingon came to one of the family reunions wearing all of the makeup he used to, long before we came to Middle-earth.  Do you remember that, darling?” asked Maedhros as he rubbed Fingon’s shoulder. Fingon gave a grunt and a nod, though his eyes remained closed. “He was about to enter the house of our grandparents, and Indis stood there, hands on her hips and just said ‘NO’, very firmly, and blocked his entry.  She told him he could go wash himself up in the trough in the barn or he would not be allowed in. Well, I was already inside, and Turgon told me what was happening. I tried to make a case, but Indis refused to hear me out. So I rounded up your father,” he said with a nod to Glorfindel, “and your uncles, and Maglor, and we came out and camped with him out in front of the house, and we gave each other the most ridiculous makeovers on the front lawn so in the morning, Indis had really no choice but to usher us inside or leave us there to make a spectacle of things.”  Maedhros was grinning, but it faltered as he said, “I really need to have a discussion with Angrod as some point. I wish I knew what happened between here and Middle-earth that changed him so much.”

“Fucking ice did,” muttered Fingon.

“Easy on the words right now,” Elrond advised.  He had just deemed the room safe for him to remove his mask, and did so, setting it on a chair.  “Are you still a llama, or are you back to being an Elf?” he gently asked.

“I am a burrowing mammal,” Fingon said around the cloth held in his mouth.

“I think we will give it a few more minutes,” Elrond said as he began to sterilize instruments and put them away.

“What do you mean, ‘changed him so much?’” Glorfindel asked Maedhros quietly.

Maedhros cleared his throat.  “He was different.” 

“You can tell him,” Fingon said quietly, voice still muffled.

“He was the first person I came out to,” Maedhros said.  “I told him before I said anything to any of my brothers because I felt I would be safe in doing so.  At the time he was really young, and really open to a lot of things, and he was just...he was a really good--”  Maedhros ran his tongue over his top teeth and blinked a few times. “Years later, Fingon told Angrod first, before he talked to anyone else, and Angrod was the one to encourage him to talk to me. Did not happen right away, so...Angrod would drop these little clues and things to me about Fingon.  Things like, ‘you know...he would be fine with it if it was just the two of you hunting’ and things like that. And, um...he was one of the few people who came to visit us in Formenos. And...then things got bad.”

“Understatement,” grumbled Fingon.

“There was one time that Angrod threatened to lop off my other hand.  Well, his words were something like ‘finish what Fingon started’, but that was what he meant.  He offered to cut out my tongue, too, so that I would stop telling lies. It was...great family memories.”

“Fucking silmarils,” came Fingon’s muffled voice.

“There was a time when my father accepted you as a homosexual?” Glorfindel’s face etched over in pained confusion. “But then he went...opposite?”

“It was not just sexuality issues, Glorfindel, it was everything,” Maedhros tried to explain.  “Before everything fell apart, there was a feast at Aunt Faniel’s one night. Gildor was fairly little, but he could walk and run around on his own, and he got into her flowerbeds and ripped up a bunch of them and brought them back and flung them in the air, and dirt got into desserts.  Finrod was pissed; Amarië was embarrassed. Finrod disappeared into the house with Gildor; when he carried him back out, Gildor was sniffling. Maglor tried to calm Gildor down; Finrod said quite plainly that he spanked him. Angrod was furious. He lectured Finrod for ten minutes, and then insisted he hold Gildor.  Finrod rolled his eyes but refused to argue about it. There are just so many things that changed, and I cannot fathom what--”

“They lost the baby.”

Maedhros blinked and looked down at Fingon.  “What baby?”

“Eldalótë was pregnant when they were crossing the ice.  She lost the baby. There was nowhere to bury it, so they just made a hole in the ice and it sank to the bottom so that wolves would not get it,” Fingon said, struggling with the words near the end.

“Sit up a moment,” Elrond directed.  He had Fingon open his mouth. The cloth removed was soaked with blood, and so a fresh one was placed and the other discarded.  “Stop talking. I know this is important, I know there are suddenly a lot of questions in the air, but you need to rest this right now, or you are going to swell up and probably will look like a llama.”

“Fingon, honey...tell me in your mind. Share it with me here,” Glorfindel begged. “I will tell Mae in turn if you two do not...cannot...please pardon me, I feel like an idiot but I do not know this about both of you.” Clearly Glorfindel was distressed, but he did his best to keep calm for Fingon’s sake.

“I cannot hear his thoughts, if that is what you mean,” Maedhros said.  

Glorfindel nodded, feeling almost relieved to have something that Maedhros did not..

Fingon settled back against Maedhros, shuddering as he recalled the dreariness of the grey lands that had taken so long to traverse.  Masses of travelers, huddled together for warmth, but not in groups of too many, for the ice was not very thick in some places, and more than anything else, people were lost by sliding between fissures, never to be seen again.

They stopped to rest, and whether it was day or night none could tell.  No fires could be built for fear it would weakened their path. Furs used as cloaks were repurposed to make tents, and walking sticks for poles.  Within minutes, hundreds of small structures popped up, shaking against the wind and occasional wisps of snow. 

And then, as Fingon was shaking out a fur to use for the structure he and Finrod were building, a scream.  Shrill and full of panic, they rushed into the tent beside the one that they now abandoned. Aegnor, with Gildor bundled in his arms, joined them, where now Fingon was crouched beside Angrod, who was desperately rubbing the body of a limp and bloody infant beside Eldalótë, who screamed again and again, wailing, shrieking, cursing the name of every Fëanorian she could remember.  Fingon bit his lip as he heard a name he anticipated, and swallowed down any words of dissention as Eldalótë looked at him accusingly. “My child is dead. This is your fault,” she spat out at him.

Fingon was pulled out of the tent by Aegnor as soon as Eldalótëe lunged at him, but even as he stumbled back, she beat at him with her fists.  His face took a particularly hard blow, and the wedding band on her finger sliced his cheek open. He sat down on the forgotten fur, blood running through his fingers and dripping on his clothes and sliding down his braids as he watched the tent, hopeful, praying.  

Angrod emerged.  He held something to his chest, and he stared down at Fingon.

Fingon stood and reached out his dry hand.  “Let me try. There are some things I can do to--”

“You are no longer a healer.  You are a murderer, Findekáno.  You threw your lot in with them.  You are not welcome to travel with us any more.”

Fingon swallowed hard and looked around at what was on the ground.  He picked up his bow and quiver, slung the case with his harp over his back, and began to walk.

News traveled fast in the temporary encampments, and as Fingon approached the tents with his father’s ragged banner, his sister emerged and held up a hand.  “Not right now, Fin,” she said quietly. “Turgon is very upset. Some say it was the cold; others malnutrition, but there is a common factor. Turgon is convinced it is because of you.  You were with us when Elenwë drowned, and now this...father said not to let you in if you--” Aredhel’s sigh could be heard even as Fingon began to walk away. “I know this is not ideal, but Fin, you--”  

Fingon stopped when he heard the rustle of clothing as Aredhel ran up to him.  He did not turn his head as she placed her hand on his shoulder. “People need someone to be angry with.  Fëanor is not here for them to hate. You are the closest thing they have.” Aredhel lowered her hand. “Give it a few days at least.”

“No,” said Fingon, still refusing to turn around.  “If that is what they need, then they can have me for their hate.”

Aredhel groaned.  “You do not have to act like a martyr, Fin.”

“I think we are beyond that point.  Farewell, dear sister.” Fingon began to step forward, but Aredhel swerved around him and pointed a finger into his chest.  He winced as she poked a bruise from Eldalótë.

“What is this ‘farewell’ bullshit?  What are you going to do, walk back and throw yourself at the mercy of the Valar?  What about Russandol? Are you going to abandon him over there with his father and his brothers and that damned stupid oath?”

Fingon took hold of Aredhel’s hand to lower it.  “I say farewell in that you should not think to follow me from now on,” he clarified.  “Stay close to Turgon. He and Idril need you. It is better I remain alone, for the duration now, at least.  I will not burden anyone else with my sins.” And forward he walked, crossing back over his path, within sight of a gathering near the tent of Angrod and Aegnor, where prayers were spoken around a hole that had been chipped into the ice.  

Fingon paused and pulled his cloak closer, speaking prayers of his own from a distance.  No one saw him, save the small boy who held Finrod’s hand and turned his head. Gildor waved at Fingon, but Fingon shook his head instantly, and Gildor frowned and lowered his arm.  

Before he was noticed by anyone else, Fingon made it further away, but paused again to look back.  Now the group appeared smaller, and it was hard to tell who was who, with the exception of Gildor, who once more looked his way.  “Dear Eru, I know I have no right to ask anything of you right now, but please, keep him safe. Please let that little one live. There is too much...too much death...and I know I have been the cause of some of it, but please, if you have love enough left for the little ones, please protect him.”  Fingon wiped his arm across his face, knocking away the frozen tears. “And if it is ever a choice of his life or mine, take me, and give him what life I would have.” Fingon turned away, and continued to push against the cold winds blowing over the grinding ice.

Glorfindel related the images and thoughts as they came to him from Fingon, trying hard to narrate from Fingon’s point of view even as he felt a piece of his heart breaking all over again. Tears fell unheeded, for he placed himself less as a listener than as a speaker. When the conclusion came, a part of him felt deeply ill at the same time as another part wanted to ask, “Where did you go, Káno?” He had not meant for the words to escape his lips, but they had done so. Blinking, emerging from the closely joined mental stated, Glorfindel’s eyes bored into that of Maedhros. It was not necessary to ask--the redhead’s mien told him clearly that he too was hearing this tale for the first time.

“Just kept walking,” he said, and Elrond sighed that his instructions were not being heeded.

Elrond cleared his throat.  “I think I should finish the examination so that the three of you and your other spouses can...discuss matters.  After supper. If that is possible.” Elrond brought from his case a few other items with which to take measurements and samples--he plucked a single hair from the top of Fingon’s head, scraped some dead skin from his elbow, and swabbed the inside of his mouth after deeming the wound to be clotted enough for the cloth to be removed. “You will forgive my intrusion on your personal life, as well as any assumptions anyone would make regarding it, but I ask in my capacity as a healer--are you currently or have been in the past sexually active?”

Fingon blushed crimson.

“Honey, will you let me answer for you, since you are not supposed to talk?” Glorfindel asked Fingon kindly. “I promise that I will be...seemly.”

Fingon nodded.

Elrond looked up at Glorfindel.  “I need to know if he engages in anal sex, and I need to know if he has ever had discomfort, bleeding, or any other unusual discharge.”

Ever so slightly, Glorfindel’s cheek twitched. He had hoped to cut out by answering ‘yes to both’ but that option had just been removed. “Yes, he does engage,” Glorfindel answered without emotion. “He has never had difficulty within the bonds of our marriage, for Erestor and I have always been careful concerning cleanliness, gentleness in preparation of a partner, and adequate lubrication. I have never noted any discharge not ordinary to all males. I cannot speak to occurrences during which he was abused in his younger years, but having been abused myself, I cannot imagine those encounters were anything other than torture.” His words had been clear, unflinching and spoken matter-of-factly. The only thing he wished he could assuage was his husband’s obvious embarrassment.

Elrond nodded at everything that Glorfindel said, and was about to conclude his examination when Fingon meekly spoke up with, “Actually...sometimes...it bleeds a little.  Not right after...we engage in...just...if I have a bowel movement...then...it can.”

“Well, I think I need to take a look then, just to be sure,” Elrond said carefully.

Fingon closed his eyes and whimpered.  “Is crawling under a rock an option?”

“Sorry, I am fresh out of llama-sized rocks.”  Elrond went back to his satchel and said to Maedhros, “Ada, can you please help him to lie in a more comfortable position on the bed, either on his side or back?  You should probably vacate for the moment. Also, this is probably obvious, but your robe should be removed, Fingon. Glorfindel, can you please mind the door so that no one disturbs us.  Just, locking it, please.”

Maedhros did not move, and neither did Glorfindel seem to be in any hurry to comply. “Ada, with respect, I promised him I would not leave him. I will not break that promise unless he is the one to tell me to do so.” 

Elrond quirked a brow.  “Ada to me, now, is it?” he teased.  “I only wanted you to stand up, not leave the room.  I need to be able to examine him without extra limbs in the way.”

Maedhros’ cheeks flamed. “I, uhm…” His eyes squeezed shut. “I seem to be overly preoccupied lately. Not that I would not be honored. Though, I am not sure I could fit your twins in alongside my brothers without the stars falling from the firmament. You know what? I am going to be quiet and hold some of his extra limbs.” 

Smiling and happier now, Glorfindel guarded the door. “Do not worry sweetie, this is nothing. Trust me, it is worse having your vagina re-opened.” A perky, oblivious cheer suffused all of his words.

Elrond came around the other side of the bed they were on and fluffed a loose pillow.  “What if you both were on your sides, with Fingon facing away from me here, and you can face him, and he can concentrate on you, Ada, and then I can proceed with what I need to do.”

“Come here to me, sweetie. Turn to your side, oh yes, just like that, and let me see those lovely eyes of yours.” Maedhros batted his eyelashes by way of enticement. “If you are very lucky, I will regale you with thrilling tales of how rope is made.” Maedhros made a passable job of helping Fingon settle, noting his expressions that floated in and out of sedation. Long fingers fished up a lock of red hair. “It is all about the twisting, you see,” he smiled charmingly. 

Glorfindel watched, his face arranged in a smile, while the thoughts of the memories he had seen would not leave him. His father...the hatred and blame...it still did not entirely make sense and yet for the first time in his life he could be assured of one thing: It had never been him in particular. It had most definitely been the way Eru made him; he was simply the deeply unfortunate child who was born into a crucible of unwarranted blame. This did not lessen the tragedy of his family, but it helped a little to explain it.

As he took hold of Maedhros’ arm, Fingon tried to ignore the sounds he heard behind him as Elrond prepared for...well, whatever, but Fingon had a pretty good idea.  A thin sheet was thankfully placed over him for modesty.

“I know that this is unpleasant, but it is for your own benefit,” Elrond said.

Fingon clung tighter to Maedhros’ arm as his mind, still hazy from the inhalation of the pipeweed and the concoctions that Elrond gave him, drifted off into the past again.  He went back, back before the Helcaraxë, before the kinslaying, before so much else happened in his life. When so much was still new and he was youthful and curious and trusting. 

He had just finished running a new routine until it was perfect.  He was in a new gym, far from the coach that had caused him such grief.  His knee had healed; he was making new friends. Formenos was not far from where the gym held their off-season practice, and while his uncle did not often bring his cousins to their snowy retreat, it seemed to occur more often now than in the past.  Life was good.

Fingon had taken a bath while still at the gym, and now as he entered his room in the barracks, he heard someone clear their throat behind him.  He spun around to see the team healer standing in the doorway. Fingon smiled and offered a greeting.

“You are late in returning, Fin.”

Fingon nodded.  “Exhibition is in three weeks.  I wanted to make sure I had everything prepared.”

The healer scratched his upper lip as he looked Fingon over.  “You certainly appear to be in fine form.”

Uneasily, Fingon shifted his weight to his other side.  “I feel pretty good.”

“No discomfort in that knee?”

“No, sir,” Fingon said.

“Obviously, you are getting ready for bed,” the healer noted.  “Since you cannot possibly mean to sleep in your uniform, and since I am here, go ahead and get undressed and I will take a look over everything for you.”

Almost immediately, a knot formed in Fingon’s throat and his stomach fluttered.  “Maybe I could come and see you tomorrow,” suggested Fingon. “It is late and I am real tired.”

The healer stepped into the room and shut the door.  The room was relatively dark, save for a lamp Fingon had lit when he entered.  “It is for your own benefit, Fin. You do not want to wake with a cramp, do you?  You practiced hard this evening. Now strip off those clothes and lie down on your bed.”

Trembling, Fingon gasped for air.  Only now did he realize he had been digging his fingernails into Maedhros’ arm, and was holding his breath.  Behind him, Elrond said, “I know this is easier said than done, but you need to relax. I cannot start while you are panicked.  Concentrate on breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Count to two. In for two, out for two. In for two, out for two...yes, that is better.  Just keep breathing. I am going to tell you before I do anything. Just breathe.”

Glorfindel locked the door, not having been able to see Fingon’s body language. At the sound of the gasp, he had started paying attention and caught the last of the images. “Maedhros...please. Please let me in there. Elrond, wait a moment. Just...you cannot begin yet.”

Quizzically, Maedhros beckoned Glorfindel over while rubbing a foot along Fingon’s leg.  “Finya. Sweetheart. What is wrong?”

Fingon shook and said nothing, but he did loosen his grip on Maedhros.  He chased off the fleeting memories of lying on the bed in the dark, the healer sitting beside him, squeezing his thighs, telling him what a good boy he was, and how this would be their secret, how he was giving him special attention to alleviate muscle cramps. Breathing.  He had to concentrate on breathing. In and out. He was with Maedhros, and Glorfindel, and Elrond was a healer he could trust, a real healer. A friend. Fingon sucked in air and coughed.

“Káno,” Glorfindel said, kneeling down and twisting his neck at a strange angle. “It is me, sweetheart. I am here, and I would never let him hurt you.”  _ I am also in here, and will chase him away no matter where he is, love. I would give my life for you, my husband. Let me feel your sweet lips on mine, just for a little kiss. Remember the massages I give you, how good I make you feel. You are only surrounded by those who love you.”  _ Sea-green eyes hovered in front of Fingon’s hazel ones, dancing with their own light.

Tenderly, Fingon kissed Glorfindel’s lips and reached a hand up to tangle in his golden locks.  Past memories sped away, at least for now, and Fingon’s body relaxed a little. 

Sensing his moment to complete the task, Elrond knelt by the bedside.  “Fingon, in a moment, I want you to take three deep breaths. Inhale, exhale.  Inhale, exhale. On the third breath in, I want you to try to tighten the muscles in the lower half of your body and hold the breath until I tell you to release it.  That might seem counterproductive, but trust me, it will help. Are you ready?” When Fingon nodded, Elrond urged him to begin. On the third breath, Fingon did his very best to comply, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he felt an intrusion.

It took under half a minute for Elrond to be satisfied with his findings, and he cleared Fingon to relax again.  Elrond cleaned up in a very clinical manner and draped the sheet the rest of the way before he went to the basin to thoroughly wash his hands.  “Fingon, I have a few follow-up questions I need to ask.” Elrond came back to the bedside and brought a stool with him, which he sat upon. He had with him a small leather bound book, not unlike the one Gildor kept notes in.  “I know that you keep in practice with your athletics, but you are also employed, need to transport to work, have duties here to attend to, do a significant amount of cooking and upkeep, and I do hope you find time to sleep and relax as well.  That said, you have an impressive amount of muscle mass, and I am trying to figure out how you manage to find the time to train as much as you do. Is there anything you are doing to help enhance that?”

Now that the anxiety was passing, Fingon carefully rolled over so that he could face Elrond.  Maedhros spooned up behind Fingon. “I am not sure I understand what you are asking,” said Fingon.  “I follow a strict regimen to stay in shape.”

Elrond rubbed his chin.  “Is there anything you eat, or anything you do, anything that is part of your routine that helps with your training?”

Fingon looked more confused.  “I mean, I do eat.”

“He means, honey, whether you are using medicines to help your muscles stay big,” Glorfindel informed gently, having sidled right next to Fingon to hold his hand. A very happy smile broke out on Glorfindel’s face when he felt Maedhros’ arm pull him also backwards, holding both of them like an elven armchair.

Fingon shook his head back and forth, still looking confused.  “Honey, though. I do have honey. I take about a tablespoon, four times a day.  It helps with my throat.”

“That could have something to do with it, but I think it would be unlikely that honey alone would cause this.”  Elrond made some notes and then looked back up. “You have two different things going on. The good news is, the bleeding has nothing to do with your sexual behavior, so you can rest easy knowing that.  The bleeding is from hemorrhoids, and if I had to guess, you either have a very uncomfortable chair at work and sit in it for long periods of time, or, you ride horses without a good saddle.”

“I do not use a saddle most of the time,” said Fingon.

“So...invest in a good saddle, limit your lengthy rides, and get a padded seat for your chair at work,” advised Elrond.

“You said there was another thing. Two things. What is the other thing, and is it bad?” Maedhros asked.

“That is the thing still under investigation.  Fingon, you have an enlarged prostate. Now, as men get older, it will get bigger.  Yours is substantially larger than what I would expect. There are a variety of things which can cause this.  Infection is one, but you did not exhibit pain, nor speak of it prior, so I doubt that. Sometimes foods can cause it, but you would have to eat an entire hive of honey a day to sustain this.  With athletes, it is not uncommon that an enlarged prostate is because they are enhancing their performance with supplements or other such concoctions.”

“You mean drugs.  Never took them,” Fingon said firmly.  “I just use the honey for my throat, because…”  Fingon became silent. “Oh.”

“Sweetie?” Glorfindel said softly, pouring all his love and affection into the question and squeezing his hand. “What is ‘oh’?”

“Let me...can I have the robe?  I need to get something. I have...a thought.”  Fingon patiently waited for Maedhros to extract himself and bring the robe back.  He quickly put it on and left the room.

“It sounds like we will either have an answer, or, he will go and hide somewhere for a while,” Elrond said as he rubbed his eyes.  “At least the sedation seems to have worn off.”

“Thank you for all that you do,” Glorfindel told Elrond. “I feel like most of us under this roof owe our lives to you. And that we do not tell you nearly often enough how much you are appreciated. It is not only that you know as much as you do. Your kindness. I will never take that for granted again.”

Maedhros appeared thoughtful, though he still held Glorfindel against him. “What he said.”

“You are very welcome,” said Elrond as he looked up.  “I think all of us have helped each other over the years, and, we are family.”

“Yes. The family of our choosing,” Glorfindel mused. 

“What he said again,” Maedhros grinned, now openly being a smartass.

The door opened, and Fingon came back in, holding a small wooden box.  He brought it to the table and set it down. When he opened it, it was half empty, but the other half contained squares of what looked like burned lembas.  “Years ago, I could not tell you how long, I was at the baths talking to some...much younger gymnasts about difficulties in performance as one gets older. I got tired more when I practiced, and one of them suggested these.  I have one before practice, maybe one or two after. I know they look odd, but they taste like chocolate. They are just natural ingredients, at least, that was what I was told. About a month after I started using them, my throat was bothering me when I ate them, so the same person I get these from told me I should try honey about four times a day, and that helped a lot.  I never thought about it much.” Fingon took a letter from his pocket. “When I came here, I kept having them sent, and I was sent a letter with a list of ingredients, because I think the person I get them from thought I would get new business for him out here, and if someone asked...well, here. Probably nothing, right?” he said as he handed the letter to Elrond.

Happy that Fingon had actually returned, Glorfindel leaned over and struggled to reach Fingon’s cheek to give it a kiss, but could not reach. Maedhros, happy to help, tilted Fingon’s head gently over so that Glorfindel could have his wish. His reward was a beautiful smile. The antics distracted Fingon from focusing too much on Elrond.

Elrond opened the letter and began to read.  His expression changed several times. Frowns and furrowed brows were prominent until his eyes widened and he shot and alarmed look in Fingon’s direction.  “When did you last eat one of these?”

“This morning, before I...no.  Yesterday.”

Elrond looked relieved.  “That is the last one you should ever eat.  At least I have an answer now.” He looked back at the letter.  “I do not know where to begin. These contain a number of things that are actually fine.  Lots of natural ingredients, known metabolism boosters, dried berries with medicinal properties, and so on.  Between those ingredients, there are appetite suppressants, enhancement substances, muscle building compounds--all of which can be harmful over a long period of time.  They can hurt your organs, your brain, your respiration--no doubt these were affecting your throat, but for all we know, the headaches are from what is in these--or are a product of the withdrawal every time you go too long between eating them.”

Once the information sunk in, Fingon had a lot to express in a very short sentence. “Fuck.”

“I am sorry,” Glorfindel told his mate. “But I am not sorry that you will be healthier without something that is harming you. I love to watch you train, love, but the sight of that matters less than knowing you are well.”

Maedhros said nothing and laid his hand on Fingon’s back.

“No, I can still train.  It just means I have to...maybe I can go for runs on my lunch to help with conditioning, and then, if someone else makes dinner, that gives me time for--”

“Fingon.  Listen to me.”  Elrond scooted the stool a little closer.  “Before you start recalculating your training schedule, I think we need to go over the rest of what I found.  You currently have three fractured bones. Your spine is out of alignment. Taking these,” he said as he picked up the box and set it back down, “has more than likely caused damage to your heart, your lungs, your liver, and your kidneys.  Your body needs time to repair. While I am not saying that you can never train, your spouses here have already accepted what needs to happen, at least for now. Are you going to lose conditioning? Yes. Muscle mass? Yes. But is it going to save your life?  I am certain about that. I really have no idea how you managed to get to this point without a stroke or a seizure or something worse.”

Numbly, Fingon shrunk back, shoulders slumping.

_ Sweetie? What are you thinking? If you do not want to tell Elrond, would you tell me? Or do you need time alone? I love you, Káno.  _ Glorfindel gazed up at his partner, gently tracing a finger over his hand, eyes full of concern and deep love.  _ If you would like to be alone or alone with Maedhros just tell me and I will take Elrond with me. Anything to help you… _

“What about dancing?” asked Fingon after he took a moment to kiss Glorfindel and Maedhros each in turn, unsure if it was meant to reassure them or comfort himself.

“Dancing is far less destructive on the body,” said Elrond.  “Once your bones have healed, and you have seen a specialist for your back, and we have the rest of the conditions under control, I see no reason why you could not dance again.  Give yourself some time to adjust, though.”

“I would love to dance more with you!” Glorfindel exclaimed excitedly. “I cannot do the gymnastics with you. I can only watch...oh sweetie, we will have such fun!”

Maedhros smiled, grateful to Glorfindel for what he was trying to do. Or was he trying? The eagerness in his eyes was palpable. If it was an act, it was very good acting.

“That is...very true,” struggled Fingon.  “Gymnastics is a very...solo thing.”

“Fingon, I want you to understand, this is not specific to you.  If Maedhros or Glorfindel or Gildor came to me and said they wanted to start training as gymnasts, I would tell them not to.”

“What about Erestor?” mumbled Fingon.

“That is an excellent question,” Elrond said without missing a beat.  “Erestor is very good at figuring out his boundaries. He used to compete in jousting; he gave that up after a fall.  Horse racing and boxing...Fingon.” Elrond took a deep breath. “I want to put this in a very sensitive way, but I feel like I need to speak plainly.  We are, all of us here, old, Fingon. There are things we wish we could still do, and some things we can still do with precaution, but there are a great number of things which we trade for wisdom and memories.”

Fingon bit his lip just as tears escaped the corners of his eyes.  “What if I...I mean, I have been eating these without an issue so far, what if I just had a piece of--”

“Finya, no.”  Maedhros grabbed hold of Fingon’s hand.  “This is not something for negotiation. You have to stop eating this stuff.”  Maedhros had a sudden thought and pulled Fingon closer. “Actually, I will negotiate.  You have done so much for me. There is something I can do for you. Something I should have done before, for Gildor, but...as you so often say, Finya, things happen for a reason.  So, you and I, we do this together. You stop eating these things, stop pushing your body beyond your natural limits, you give yourself permission to rest, and heal, and I am going to quit the booze.  Really. Completely. Done. Right now. I promise. I have been trying to drink less since I tried to quit, and no matter how terrible it makes me feel again, I am going to do it this time. I swear to you, Finya, no more of those poisonous biscuits pass your lips, and not a single drop of alcohol makes it to my tongue.”

No one spoke for a little while, for Fëanorians making oaths is never a thing to take lightly.  Finally it was Elrond who spoke, saying, “Fingon, there is a lot you have been through today, and most of this news is not welcomed.  There are other items I need to address with you, but before we leave the topic, perhaps tomorrow you and I can go over what exactly you have been doing in terms of the gymnastics.  The part I am most concerned with are your landings. You hit the ground hard, and that impacts your body every time. I think we should find a healer who deals with athletics, and go over what you should not do, and what you might still be able to do.  I saw a trampoline leaned against the back of the house. In my mind, exercising with that is going to be far less wear and tear on you, your bones, your joints, everything, than landing over and over on a harder surface. Let us make a point to discuss tomorrow.  Alright?”

This ray of hope reflected in Fingon’s eyes, and he nodded.  “What are the other things you need to address?”

Elrond flipped back a few pages in his book.  “Your headaches. I want you to keep a journal of them.  I want you to rate them on a scale of one to twelve, with one being annoying but manageable and twelve being unbearable.  Your prostate. I am convinced that once you have gone a few weeks without all of this inside of you,” he said, tapping the box, “it is going to start shrinking.  I think your headaches will initially get worse, but then, I think they will lessen. However, I am concerned at how large your prostate currently is. I want to monitor the healing of your jaw, but if it shows good signs of mending, then in a day or two, I will instruct whomever you are comfortable with how to perform massage techniques that will help to drain some of the fluid inside there, which will ease discomfort you otherwise will have.  You probably have not noticed any thus far because between the headaches and the throbbing in your face, and the fractures, that pain was less severe.”

“I suppose if it is going to give me relief, I am willing to have anyone have a go,” Fingon said.

“We promise to take very good care of you,” Glorfindel related on behalf of himself and the rest of their family.  “Whatever needs to be done to get you in good health, we will be sure it is done.” Maedhros nodded in agreement.

“Tonight, rest.  Tomorrow, very easy duties at work.  I know that Maedhros has been going with you,” Elrond informed Fingon.  “Continue this trend for the remainder of the week. He is a force unlike any other, as I think you well know.”

This brought a smile to Fingon.  “So...the king needs to take his bodyguard with him.  Got it.”

Maedhros protectively squeezed Fingon.  “It will be my pleasure to tell people no for you.”

“I want you to stay on clear liquids tonight.  Broth, water, thin fruit juices--nothing too hot, and nothing too cold.  In the morning, soft food can be added, but nothing with particles that could wedge in between the sutures.  For instance, no oatmeal. So, applesauce would be fine, mashed potatoes, pudding, fully ground peanut butter--nothing that requires chewing.  I will assess tomorrow night and let you know where we go from there.”

“What exactly was going on in there?” Fingon asked.

Elrond sketched something out in his book and held it up for reference.  “Somehow, you had an infection inside your jaw. Thankfully, it traveled slowly.  I have no frame of reference for when it started, but it was trapped inside there.  The comments made earlier, on how it could have moved to your brain--possible, but unlikely.  More likely to invade the sinuses. From my recollection, you have colds and nasal issues frequently.”  Fingon confirmed this for Elrond with a nod. “I think that was where the infection was sometimes traveling, however, some of it was always staying in the bone.  Unlike other parts of the body that can fight off these infections, it can be difficult for the body to go to war against something in a bone. I had to open up the affected area, drain it, irrigate it, and then scrape out the dead tissue.  Part of your jaw bone was, for all intents and purposes, soft mush. That was where the pain came in. It held shape because of your gums, but biting down caused pain, and the throbbing was from the infection. In a few days, once it is healing, you will notice if you feel with your tongue that is is going to be significantly different from the other side.  You may still lose the back tooth. Right now, it is still rooted in what I could save, but the trauma may loosen it. We will have to see. I am glad we took care of it; while it was progressing slowly, we never know what might cause it to suddenly become aggressive. This was actually very minor compared to the other time I performed this procedure.”

“When was that?” asked Fingon.

“In Rivendell, Third Age, someone who had let it go and let it go...which, brings me to another point.  You need to tell someone when you are ailing, and you need to have it addressed sooner rather than later.  A small issue can turn into a big problem,” Elrond said in a stern healer-knows-best tone. “Gildor is very good for immediate issues, and you may call upon me whenever you need.”

“Thank you,” Fingon said softly.

“Yes, Elrond, thank you for everything,” Glorfindel said most sincerely.  

“We really appreciate everything you have done for us,” Maedhros chimed in.  “What kind of broth would you like, Finya? I think you will want to dress for supper, and Glorfindel can stay here while I see to your requests in the kitchen.”

“Actually,” spoke up Elrond, “there is one other thing, but I would prefer to speak to Fingon about it privately.  I am sure he will address it with you if he wishes. I know you want to stay here, however, this will take but a moment, and the examination is done.”

The trio exchanged looks until Fingon nodded and patted each of his lovers in turn.  “I am not really hungry,” he said in answer to Maedhros’ question.

Maedhros frowned, but it was Glorfindel who pressed the matter.  “You might not be hungry now, but I think we should ready some food for you in case you are once you smell whatever is cooking in the kitchen.”

Fingon snorted.  “I am not going join everyone for dinner tonight,” he vowed.

“I think you have a valid point, Glorfindel,” said Elrond.  “Maybe while Fingon and I chat, the two of you could see what is viable for him for supper, and it could be brought to his room upstairs, where I am sure he will rest more comfortably.”

Reluctantly, Glorfindel and Maedhros left the room, and Elrond opted to stand and lock the door after them.  When he returned to sit on the stool, Fingon was sitting up on the edge of the bed to face him. “How bad?” asked Fingon.

Elrond stroked his chin and leaned forward on the stool as he folded his hands.  “You tell me,” he countered. “During my examination, I found several scars that could only be produced by self-inflicted means.  I do not need you to tell me how long you have been hurting yourself. The reasons for it are between you and a healer of the mind, which you need to seek out.  You know this is not a healthy way to cope with whatever it is that is ailing you, but if it is at this point, it either means it is extraordinarily difficult and you feel you have no other ways to cope, or you have tried what you know, and you need guidance.  Either way, you need an expert, and I wish it was in my skill set, but my specialty is the body. Gildor is an excellent resource. He will help you if you ask it of him. I think, because you have grown close to him, you should find someone else as well.”

Fingon spent the time slowly wiping away fresh tears, sniffling, and licking his lips.  “It just happens sometimes,” he defended.

With a nod, Elrond retrieved a clean cloth and handed it to Fingon as he sat down on the bed.  “I can also tell, when I look at the scars, if there was hesitation or not. What I saw, under your arm, on your thigh, places that are somewhat hidden, the marks are very precise.  There are others that are rougher, due to pulling back or a hand shaking.” Elrond rubbed Fingon’s back. “You have very hesitant marks that make it look like you tried to castrate yourself.  Recently.”

With one hand holding the untouched cloth, Fingon continued to wipe his face with the other.  “I just…” He started to tremble a little, and Elrond continued to rub his back.

“It is alright.  You do not have to tell me unless you want to.”

Fingon stared at the wall, still sniffling, feeling the tears hit the front of the robe to form a wet splotch.  “I hate the way I look sometimes.” His shoulders shook as he bowed his head and stopped trying to hold back his emotions.  “I get confused. I know how wrong it is.”

“Who told you it is wrong?” Elrond asked softly.  

“Everyone,” Fingon said without explanation.  “Like, nature, and Eru, and Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, and--”

“If I had to choose a book to burn, and I think that is a terrible thing to do mind you, but if I was told to choose one, I would most certainly pick Laws and Customs,” Elrond said in a self-assured voice.  “The number of times someone has cited that to me for life decisions that caused them sorrow is unbelievable. Now, did Eru Himself come down from upon high and tell you that your thoughts were invalid?”

Fingon shook his head.

“And I do not think He will.  I think, ultimately, the reason He matched you with Glorfindel is so that you each have someone to talk to about how you are different than what is typically exhibited.  I refuse to say normal, because what is normal? There are honestly so few people who are normal, that it is abnormal to be normal.” When Elrond managed to get a smirk from Fingon about this, he said, “These things that you have been eating have been affecting your body and your mind.  I am not suggesting that because you ate them you feel like you want to emasculate yourself. I do think that some of the more extreme thoughts might be because of them. So I want you to take a little time to allow yourself to adjust. I also want you to be able to live in harmony of spirit with yourself.  I want you to be able to love yourself. And so, if a time comes in the future that you have had a chance to weight your options and consider them and the effects of them, and you feel that castration is what you need to be whole, to be you, then it can be done, safely, by a healer, and I will aid you in that.”

Once again appearing baffled, Fingon, who was still crying, looked up at Elrond.  “You are the first healer who ever suggested that as a viable option.”

“Some things we can do, some things we cannot.  So, let us wait for the future, and let us take things one step at a time.  You have a lot of healing to do before we can consider anything else.”

Fingon wiped his face and asked bluntly, “What about my penis?”

Elrond paused in rubbing Fingon’s back.  “You want to know whether that could be removed as well?”  Fingon nodded. “It could,” Elrond said. “There could be more complications, but it is not impossible.  It would change some things for you. Urination would most certainly be different. You would lose a lot of sexual interest, though, castration would do that as well.  I could see, from the examination, that you are retaining fluids, and you have high blood pressure, and these are things which are in part due to what you have been putting into your body.  So again, given time, you are going to notice changes.”

“So all of this is going to shrink?” asked Fingon as he waved his hand near his groin.

“Most likely, yes,” affirmed Elrond.

Fingon closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.  “That would be wonderful,” he admitted.

“Well, I am sure there is at least one person eavesdropping at the door right now, and I am also sure you would like to get to rest in your own room.  Llamas prefer their own beds to heal in,” Elrond said, and this was returned with a groan.

“I am never living down that whole llama thing, am I?” Fingon asked as he stood and dried his remaining tears with the cloth.

“Nope,” Elrond said as he opened the door for Fingon.

Erestor stood there, his face stricken with worry and sadness. “I cannot ask your pardon for being here,” he told Fingon nervously, his hands folded tightly against his belly. “I heard, here,” he tapped the side of his head. “I will speak of nothing until you initiate that conversation. My only hope is that you will accept my care and affection, for I promised to be with you and so here I am.” The dark beauty did not move, but waited in place to hear what Fingon would say, if anything at all.

Caught now between Erestor and Elrond, Fingon’s initial thought of running away was not possible.  Instead, he reached out and touched one of Erestor’s fingers with his. “I want to go lie down in our room,” he said.  He was painfully aware of how red his cheeks were.

“Then we will go there,” Erestor told him softly, approaching and very gently giving him a light embrace. “I love you no matter what, Káno. Through everything and all that you were, are, and need to become.” Taking his lover’s hand, he turned away and shot a look of gratitude mingled with inner pain at Elrond, before he lowered his gaze again and stepped off toward the door to see if Fingon would allow himself to be led.

Through the first floor and up the stairway, Fingon followed Erestor, stopping only when they reached the bedroom.  Fingon dumped the robe on the floor as he approached the bed, and crawled in, where he hugged a pillow to his chest.  “I am sorry you heard any of that. I never wanted to burden the rest of you with these things. I know you will say you all want to be here for me, but what goes on in my head sometimes is...hard enough for me to deal with, let alone explain to someone else.”

“But I am not you, sweetie, which is why it is not as hard for me as it is for you. I think the reverse probably holds true. For example...do you struggle with the fact that at one time I thought I had impulses toward ellith that on occasion still muddle my thoughts when I hover between sleep and wakefulness? Or is it a fact that you take note of because I matter to you but otherwise do not internalize and agonize over inside of yourself?” Erestor’s question was calm, as he sat at Fingon’s back and smoothed his hair slowly.

“I worry about everything that happens to everyone.  I try to imagine how everyone feels about the things that happen to them, from putting myself in a place of wondering how frightened Glorfindel must have been when they cut him open again to the horrors you faced at that clinic to how agonizing it was for Maedhros to hang from the cliff for years.  And then, I have my own thoughts on top of everything else. I feel like a chameleon. One day, I wake up, I feel a certain way, and then the next day--the same day, a different hour at times--I feel different. I need someone to tell me who I am supposed to be. What I am supposed to be.”

“Then that feeling will be what we work on, in time. All of us. You are no longer alone, for a king never is. You have a cadre of those loyal to you, that will light the way in the dark. We will help you and in turn we will receive help ourselves. For this moment, just know that not everyone internalizes the difficulties of others. In a sense what you can do is a great gift, though it is a difficult burden to carry. You had unimaginable compassion towards me when we met and because of it you saved me. I was not, still am not, like you. But I have learned from you, and been blessed on account of that.” Erestor sighed, his caressing of Fingon’s hair becoming rhythmic. “I only want you to remember that I love you. That is my gift that no preference of yours or worry can erase. Then I want to know if I can do anything for you now, beyond tucking you in snugly and leaving you in the quiet for awhile.”

“I love you, too,” Fingon said as a few errant tears slid over his cheek and disappeared into the pillow.  “Would you mind waiting until I fall asleep before you leave? I know you have to eat dinner, but I doubt I will be awake much longer.”

“I would be honored.” Bending down to kiss his husband’s cheek, Erestor began humming a melody of his own creation in his rich baritone. The threads of it were meant to soothe, and with the strength of Erestor’s mind he bathed his love in what thoughts of peace were his. Gildor’s words came back to him, so he wove his song with prayers to Eru for the well being of their family and to seek His blessings. So softly, so gently, and so filled with the love of his heart.

It did not take long for Fingon to drift into a peaceful reverie, and even then Erestor lingered a little longer, until the door was nudged open and Glorfindel peered inside.  “Is he…?”

Erestor nodded and placed a finger to his lips.  He slowly stood up, leaned down to kiss Fingon’s brow, and exited, leaving the door slightly ajar in case any night terrors should dare disturb Fingon, so that he or Glorfindel could be at his side once more.  “I know that there is a lot you need to share with me about the examination, and there are things I need to share with you about his thoughts after.”

“I wondered if you had gone in there,” Glorfindel said as he tapped the side of his head.

“It was not intentional.  These thoughts Fingon has...they were like a powerful flood that rushed forth, and I had no intention of overhearing them, but...perhaps it was for the best.  He struggles to explain things, and this way, he will not have to,” reasoned Erestor. “Come; we should eat quickly so that we can go back and check on him.” Glorfindel nodded, and they made their way down the steps together.

  
  


###  Late Evening, Day 22

A few hours later, Maedhros was thankful to find the door was ajar as he approached with a tray of food.  He knocked with his stump against the top of the door and it pushed inward. He found that Fingon was awake, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.  “I brought you dinner.”

“Thank you,” Fingon said, but he made no movement.

“How are you feeling, sweetie?” Maedhros’ eyes did not leave Fingon’s face, scanning for anything and everything.

“Stupid.”  Fingon shifted his gaze to Maedhros.  “How was dinner?”

“Boring. Though you might make it less so.” Placing the tray somewhere safe, he sat next to Fingon on the bed. “If it is any consolation, there is no need to feel stupid. You were flying in Varda’s heavens. Nothing you said was your fault. Medications are supposed to do that.” A hand came up to caress Fingon’s cheek.

Fingon closed his eyes and turned his head to lean into the touch.  A moment later, some of the other memories came back, and he opened his eyes.  “He knows. Elrond knows. I did not think about it, but he could tell.” Fingon pulled his arm out from under the blankets and he examined the inside of his arm.  Barely discernible scars were on his skin. “And he knew I did it to myself.”

Maedhros said nothing, taking a moment to tunnel his way to having his arm behind Fingon’s neck and his thumb idly caressing exposed skin. “So he did, and if he knew it from looking, it means he has seen it before. It must be nice, in a way, to hear that you are not alone. That many others struggle with the same pain and difficulties.”

Lowering his arm, Fingon turned his head to look at Maedhros.  “I guess I did not consider it from that perspective.”

“I think you know by now that he is a compassionate elf who would never judge another for their pain or desperation. That would be the opposite of everything Elrond stands for. Does it feel uncomfortable, to be ‘outed’?” Maedhros asked. He slipped away from his current position to one of his head propped on his stump, nestled close to Fingon so they could see each other. His hand came to rest on Fingon’s hand outside the covers, with fingers drawing invisible patterns.

“Besides feeling stupid, I guess I feel...exposed,” Fingon settled upon.

“But you are only exposed to Elrond. And those of us who already knew. Your mates,” Maedhros said, a little nervously. “Can...can I call you that, even though we have not yet taken the final steps? For it is the impulse of my heart.” Not waiting for an answer, Maedhros broke eye contact to look at their hands. “I will never judge you for cutting yourself, Finya. I threw my body into flames. I want to believe that lets me understand pain that nothing but pain can assuage.” To his mild surprise, no tears formed in his eyes. He had long come to accept that this deed would always be a part of him. It simply was.

Fingon rubbed his fingers over Maedhros’ hand and then moved to run his fingers along Maedhros’ other arm.  “I wish I had been there for you in those years.” He looked up and said, “I would like to be your mate again.  Maybe I am too forward in saying this, but I would even like to...maybe this is inappropriate…” Fingon looked away, and then back.  “If it is in any way possible, I would like to someday be your husband again.”

“Then we both agree,” Maedhros said quietly, his fingers still dancing in patterns. “We cannot fix the First Age. The Valar themselves could not do that, so what hope did we ever really have? But we have this. Now. That is where I try to keep my thought. Under this roof, because I find more and more that everything that truly matters to me in this world is defined by the shelter we have taken here. This may have started out as a big old house, Finya, but now it is a refuge for many.”

“I am glad that you and Gildor have decided to take refuge here with us.”  Fingon lifted himself up so that he could lightly kiss Maedhros. “I suppose I should eat something.”

“I would like you to stay hydrated,” Maedhros encouraged, bringing the broth near. “I plan to do the same while I am able. Finya, I meant what I said, about my drinking. So it stands to reason that quite soon I am going to be ill for a few days, a consequence I gladly accept. I may not be able to care for you as much once the withdrawal sets in, so I want to do what I can for you now.” The redhead chuckled. “Hopefully Gildor will put up with me; this will be the second time I ask this of him. I am very fortunate to have his love. And yours.” The spoon was placed in Fingon’s hand, and the tray positioned where it would be in easy reach. 

“Maybe it will not be so bad this time.  It has only been a few days, really, and I have noticed you have not been drinking nearly as much.  It did not escape me yesterday that you had water when you could have easily ordered any one of a hundred things at that restaurant.”  Fingon looked down into the bowl. “I still feel like an idiot. You would think I would have asked someone what the fuck was in those things I was eating all those years.”  He lifted a spoonful up to blow it off, but found that it was at the ‘just right’ temperature already.

“Maybe on some level you did not want to know,” Maedhros theorized. “I know what your athleticism means to you. I know what Elrond is telling you to give up. That is why I mean to make sure your sacrifice is not in vain. I also think that whoever is making and marketing those things is in for a talking-to, for you were actively deceived unless…” He paused, thinking carefully. “Was what you told Elrond the full truth, Fin? Did you truly not know what was in those, or was it an attempt to deflect how you would feel if what you were really ingesting was exposed? Your answer will never leave this room but I am pleading with you to be honest with me.” 

“I swear to you, I was told it was ‘coimas, but for athletes’.  That is why I feel a damned fool. I fuss about not eating eggs--that was seriously my worry with it.  I think I asked about twenty times if they were sure there were no eggs in it. Never asked if there was something that might stop my heart or cause my liver to bleed or anything.  Nope. No eggs? More focus? Better metabolism? And I get to look like...this.” Fingon tossed the spoon onto the tray and ran his hands thought his hair. “I am so fucked up,” he said as he held his head in his hands.

“Because you need your body to look this way to feel authentic?” Maedhros probed gently, sitting up and touching his shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “You are talking to someone who has practical experience in needing the body to look a certain way.” The words were meant as self-deprecating humor, but in case there was any doubt as to his meaning he caressed Fingon’s arm with his stump.

Fingon warred with himself to find words.  What came from him was, “I do not need to look like this to be a gymnast.  I need to be a gymnast to look like this.” He detangled his hands from his hair.  “I have no idea where to begin. I have no idea how to explain.”

“And so the thought of no longer being a gymnast makes you feel...how? I know that what Elrond does not realize is that for you, dabbling at gymnastics cannot equate to being a gymnast. Have you pursued the training, this identity, in all our many years apart?” Maedhros wanted to know.

“It is not the fucking gymnastics.  I mean, it is, but…” Fingon huffed, anger turning inward as he hit at his thigh with his fist.  It was not particularly hard, but it was enough to be noticable. “What is your identity, Maitimo?”

Maedhros withdrew his touch in order to fully sit up. Framed that way, had he ever been asked this? The two rusty colored eyebrows came closer together as their owner pondered a reply. “This may not be elegant but I will try. I am Gildor’s husband. I mean to be your husband as well. At this moment I define myself most strongly as being the man who loves and wants the best for both of you. I am…” More frowns. “I am a vestige of the First Age and the worst of its history. I was...yours, once. I…” The red mane shook. “This is the problem. My identity is shifting away from something I held onto for a very long time--my connection to what amounts to the miseries of my past. That is the very thing I am trying to shed. To set those aside and live for those I love and not my own brooding. So you have your answer. My identity is my love for those nearest to me. Maybe that is not healthy. Maybe that is still evolving. All I know is it feels better because there is now hope where there was none before.”

While Maedhros spoke, Fingon bit at his thumbnail.  He listened closely, head leaned slightly in Maedhros’ direction.  It was only after Maedhros finished speaking that Fingon gave any indication of having something to say, but he only nodded and looked to the side.  He scratched his head, and then dropped his hand back down. Some of his hair was a victim of the static from the sheets, and it stuck up and out from his forehead in wisps as he stared at the wall.

“Your soup will get cold, Finya. Can you try to have some?” Maedhros coaxed, realizing that he possibly should have made his answer contingent on the consumption of some of the food. “I saw the carrots that came out of the broth. They looked lovely.” What he hoped was an encouraging smile beamed forth. This felt more than a little ridiculous as well as prone to failure, but what did he have to lose? At least Fingon probably would not throw the soup at him. Probably.

Several attempts at a response never made it past his lips, and finally Fingon picked up the bowl and drank directly from it, finishing the majority of it in two rounds.  He placed the bowl with the dregs back on the tray and leaned back. He studied Maedhros for a moment and then asked, “You promise you are staying?”

Maedhros’ expression changed to one of surprise. It would have been at best coquettish and at worst cruel for him to have offered the intimacies of recent occurence, had he not meant to see this through. But right now that need not be said. “I promise to stay at the side of both you and Gildor, even as I sincerely hope that will not entail having to split myself in half in order to keep my word.”

“Sorry.  That was inappropriate of me to ask that.”  Fingon tilted his head back to look at the ceiling.  “I told Beleg everything, and I told Faelion almost everything, and…” Fingon turned his head and looked at Maedhros.  “I am going to try really hard to answer your questions, but I do not always have words for how I feel.”

“Fair enough. For the record, I do not feel it was inappropriate. Based on my behavior of late, you have every right to need assurance of my intentions. I also want you to know that I do not expect some kind of...disgorging of all your innermost thoughts at once if you are not comfortable with that. Elrond said we should seek a healer of the mind. We can indeed start with Gildor, though for my part I will heed what Elrond said about someone more objective. I think we should wait to talk about anything that feels deeply uncomfortable until we have guidance...but not now. You need rest, Fin. Not the stress of talking about difficulties. Today was hard enough--give yourself a break.” Leaning forward, he kissed Fingon’s brow.

A hand shot out and jostled the tray.  Fingon gripped Maedhros’ arm. “This is the only chance I have,” he hissed.  “If you, or someone, does not...pull this out of me now, I am going to bury it so deep, no one will stand a chance of ever finding any of it.  I am so scared. I am afraid I will lose you, or disgust you, or...something. And as bad as that would be, I cannot risk losing Glorfindel or Erestor, and…”  He took a deep breath. “As horrible as this is going to sound, I did lose you once, and I know it would be devastating, but I know I can survive it if it happens again.  I would not survive if I lost Erestor or Glorfindel.”

“Finya…” The hand came up with gentleness in contrast to the firmness with which he himself was held. “They love you. Maybe you did not see what I did today. I cannot read his mind but I can very much still interpret faces, and Glorfindel wears his heart on his sleeve. There is nothing you could do to drive them off. Nothing. Of that I feel certain. As for me...I swore myself to you. That is not something I can or will take back. Do with that what you will.”

Slowly, Fingon loosened his grip until his hands slid away.  The intensity faded away, and was replaced with complacency. “You are right.  I should sleep.” He pushed the tray slightly, rejecting whatever else was on it.  “I have work tomorrow.”

“I will stay here until you fall asleep,” Maedhros offered. “I love you.”

Fingon nudged at the tray again.  “No, you should go downstairs. I think I want to be alone.”

A flicker of hurt passed over Maedhros’ features, quickly banished. “Alright.” Lifting the tray, he bestowed a second kiss to Fingon’s brow. He paused at the doorway. “I love you,” he repeated with an insistence that bordered on argument, before pulling the door mostly shut behind him.

Fingon looked down at his hands.  “I wish I could love me,” he said to himself.  His right hand was balled into a fist, and while it hovered a moment, he eventually hit the mattress with it instead of himself, and eased into a fetal position, clawing a pillow close to cling to.

  
  



	23. Day 23

###  Early Morning - Day 23

All was still in the cottage, save for the rapid thumping of Gildor’s heart.  He could hear it pouding, and had heard it now for well over an hour as he attempted without any luck to fall asleep. 

“Is everything alright, lover?”

Gildor sighed as he clenched the blanket.  He knew that he could make it easy on himself and allow his thoughts to betray him, but he wanted it to come from his lips.  Easing onto his other side, he faced Maedhros. After a deep breath, he said, “I have something I must tell you.”

“Oh?”  Maedhros lifted an intrigued brow.

“A surprise.  Something I have been planning.”  Gildor clenched his blanket. “You will either love it or you will hate me.”

“Why would I ever hate you?” pressed Maedhros.  “What cause would I have for that?”

“You might.  Once I tell you what I have done,” Gildor whispered.

Maedhros kissed Gildor’s brow.  “After all you have given to me, from the day you came to visit when no one else did to the blessings from you for me to open a door with Fingon I thought long closed and locked.  I could never hate you,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Gildor, and Gildor relaxed a tiny bit. “Now tell me--what have you done this time?”

  
  


###  Morning - Day 23

It was only a few hours later that Maedhros awoke.  The space beside him was empty, and cold, and he frowned to know the Gildor could not have slept well or for long.  Maedhros belched and dug around in a pile of laundry until he found a pair of pants he deemed acceptable to wear down to the kitchen.

Once there, he surveyed the room to see the entire household--almost.  “Has anyone taken Fingon something to eat? He probably needs to leave for work soon.”

Glorfindel scratched his cheek and gave Erestor a sideways glance.  Erestor and Gildor were taking turns stacking cards into a tower as they drank their coffee, and Elrond was assisting Celebrían in bringing food to the table.  Nervously, Asfaloth stood in the corner of the room, knocking his knuckles together.

Maedhros’ brows lifted slightly.  “What?” he finally prodded.

“He left before we woke up,” spoke up Erestor.

“Son of a…”  Maedhros closed his eyes and counted to ten.  “Did he at least take a horse?” He opened his eyes, not meaning to glare at Asfaloth, but all the same, it happened.

“Uh...well...we have so many new horses, I cannot rightly say if--”

“Asfaloth.  Yes or no.”

Asfaloth shrunk down a little.  “Doubtful.”

Maedhros rubbed his head.  “Someone get me some coffee.  And a horse.” Before he could specify he did not immediately need the horse, Asfaloth was standing in the middle of the kitchen in all his equine majesty, tail sweeping against the window.  “Maybe...coffee first,” reasoned Maedhros.

“Either way it looks like you have a volunteer, Mae Mae,” Gildor said, trying to be helpful. “Can I pack you something to take for breakfast very quickly, sweetheart?”

Erestor said nothing, knowing Fingon’s state of mind. He reproached himself for his blatant violations of privacy, but it was the only means by which to ease his own worry and turmoil. He and Glorfindel had already silently (and unsuccessfully) discussed what if anything to do, which was at least partly why the blond sidled his way over to pour Maedhros the coffee for which he had asked, handing it to him so he could easily grasp the mug.

“Sure,” Maedhros answered to Gildor after he took a swig of coffee.  He looked to Elrond. “Raising twins was easier than raising Fingon is proving to be,” he grumbled.

“I feel like…” Erestor darted a glance toward a hesitant Glorfindel, who sighed once more and nodded his assent. “Like I should tell you. What is up here,” he tapped his head. “With him. I pray for forgiveness for what I know he would find appalling, but he needs help,” Erestor whined, trying to convince himself of the morality of his choices.

“Erri,” Gildor laid a hand on his arm. “You just said it yourself. This is not ordinary. He does need help, and we are all determined to do that. Together. You need not fear that anyone in this room will ever betray this confidence.”

“Fine,” Erestor mumbled, finally meeting Maedhros’ gaze.

As suddenly as he had become his horsey self, Asfaloth was back in the corner again.  “Nothing around here is ordinary,” opined Asfaloth as he helped himself to the bowl of sugar cubes.

Erestor set the remaining cards of the deck onto the table as everyone else pulled chairs out to sit on if they were not already around the table.  Erestor glanced around at all of them. “Fingon has been warring internally for weeks. Only yesterday, when his guard was down and his mind was relaxed did I pick up on thoughts he has been suppressing, only, I think it was not so much that he was suppressing them from all of us, so much as him trying to keep them from himself.”

“Because that has never happened before,” Maedhros sighed, feeling slightly dejected. “How bad is he? Has he already run away?”

“He went to work.  I do not know if I would call it running away.”  Erestor twisted his mouth slightly, contemplating.  “I am trying to decide where to start. It has been more difficult as of late for me to read him.  It used to be very easy--he is typically methodical and organized in his thinking, but lately it is like someone took all of the colors of paint and poured them together, and instead of a beautiful rainbow, ended up with that muddy grey-brown that makes confused children painting with their fingers wonder ‘where did the red go?’.”

Gildor immediately frowned. “Are you telling me he is having a breakdown?”

“I do not know what I am telling you!” Erestor said, his worry growing. “I am not...I do not know what you know and--”

“Ress. Sweetie. Come here to me,” Glorfindel insisted, pulling him into a hug. “Deep breath. Try to stay calm. Gildor is only looking for information. Everything will be alright.”

“But what if it is not,” came the muffled words spoken into Glorfindel’s collarbone.

Glorfindel squeezed his eyes shut, for he was trying very hard not to entertain that possibility. 

“Erri, I am sorry,” Gildor immediately apologized. “I blurted out some very poorly chosen words. I did not sleep well last night, not that it is an excuse. Whatever you are perceiving within Fingon’s mind is my job to parse out. But there is one common sense thing I can tell all of us. We need to keep his stress levels as low as possible. Elrond? Are you listening? Can I have a second opinion on something to give Fingon that will not interfere with his functioning at work but might aid him in easing some of his anxiety?”

Maedhros looked around the room. Everyone, including Asfaloth, looked like they could use some of that. Maybe it came in pints.

Before Elrond could answer, Erestor spoke again.  “I think this is more like what was hiding in his jaw.  We kept giving him pain killers so he could sleep without headaches, and soothing him with salves when the infection needed to be drained.  I hate to  disclose what I am going to say without him here, but I feel as if I have no other choice, if that knowledge will help us to heal him.”

Elrond stared, and then nodded. “We are listening, Erestor. What Gildor already said holds true. I am under the bonds of my obligation to a patient, and will never  share  this elsewhere.”

“Go on,” Glorfindel told him. “It needs to be said.”

“Most of it is memories, because, as Fingon has already told some of us, he struggles to put things into words.  I will do my best to recall all of what I saw,” Erestor said dutifully. “I also may not remember them all in order--but there was one that I know he thought of numerous times, and I shall start with that.”

\---

“Are you sure you will be alright on your own?”

“Nana, I told you, this is not all that different from being away at one of the gyms,” Fingon assured his mother.  He was helping her carry luggage to the carriage awaiting outside. Turgon was entertaining Aredhel, making sure she would not romp off somewhere before the journey got underway, while a small dog not unlike Dog Dog ran circles around the two younger children.  Fingon loaded the packs and hat boxes into the proper compartments and leaned against the carriage as his father approached him and set a hand on his shoulder. “Please tell her I am going to be fine, Ada,” said Fingon.

“He will be fine, dear,” Fingolfin said to Anairë, and she sighed and went to collect the other children.  Fingolfin kept his hand on Fingon’s shoulder. “Make sure you do not let any traveling peddlers into the house; they are tenacious, and will not leave unless you buy something.  Same goes for your eldest uncle.”

“He is tenacious and will not leave unless I make a purchase?” queried Fingon.

“No, I just do not want him in the house when I am not here.”  Fingolfin pulled a few coins from his pocket. “Now, there is food enough for the week, but in case you need it, I want you to put this somewhere safe.”  Fingolfin deposited the coins into Fingon’s palm. “If you have any sort of trouble, you go right to your Aunt Findis’ house and stay there until we come home, alright?”

“I will be fine,” Fingon said firmly.  He said his farewells to the family and watched them as they headed down the road and out of sight before he went back into the house.    

Dozens of ideas flitted through his head, but as he turned the lock of the door, he looked around, as if expecting Aredhel to pop up, a stowaway of the house.  He bounded up the stairs to his room--his shared room, really, for he and Turgon were in it together. There was no need to close the door, for there was no one home, and Fingon trembled with excitement as he knelt down beside his bed and crawled beneath to pull out a wrapped package.  Still shaking a little, he went with it to his parents’ room, for there was a gorgeously ornate tall mirror in one corner, and it was exactly what he needed at that moment.

The paper was torn away from his secret, and he smoothed his hand down the brocade.  He had seen one like it in a shop in Valmar, and somehow managed the courage while at a meet far, far from home to find a shop there which sold them, and to pretend it was a gift for a young lady ‘about his size’.  As he took a steadying breath, he wondered if the seamstress bought his story. 

In a flash, he stripped off his clothing--and then, he turned the garment around and over and fussed with all of the laces until he finally figured out just which way was up.  Then it was a struggle to stand straight, tighten the corset, and manage to breath at the same time. He had a fleeting thought that perhaps he should have told Maedhros, should have waited for him to be back from wherever his father had taken the family this time...and yet, what would he have said?

In the midst of his jumbling thoughts, his self-admiration once he had a look at himself in the mirror, and feel of closing his eyes to run his hands down his body, and to imagine what he wanted to see, and not what was reflected in the mirror, he neglected to hear the door open.  He never had any indication of footsteps inside or up the stairs. There was no warning as he heard the voice of his father say, “Fin, I know you do not want to come along, but your mother--”

From the first syllable, Fingon panicked and tried in desperation to untie the lacings, but somehow knotted them and then knocked into the dresser, causing a wooden box to fall from it and hit the floor.  While he might have had a better chance diving under the bed and hoping he was not found out, the commotion brought his father to the room even swifter, and though they were not facing one another, their eyes met in the mirror--Fingon’s expression of complete horror and Fingolfin’s stunned confusion.  

Without another word, Fingolfin backed out of the room and pulled the door closed before he stood still a moment, and then went back down the stairs and left the house.  As Fingon stood, frozen before the mirror, he could faintly hear the sound of his parents talking outside, and then the sound of the carriage leaving the house again.

When Fingon finally did manage to free himself of the restrictive clothing, he threw it with kindling into one of the fireplaces and sat before the fire with tears in his eyes, too afraid to move until it was all ash.

A week later, when he stood fearfully at the door, waiting for his family to exit the carriage, his father gave him only the briefest of glances before he mumbled something on his way past about having to work in his den.  Dinner was served by Anairë, who told the children that their father was working on business and would be at it very late.

The next morning, Fingon woke to the smell of eggs cooking downstairs.  Puzzled, he pulled on a robe and saw that Turgon was not in his bed. Once at the bottom of the stairs, he could hear laughter of his father and brother mingled together, and confirmed his suspicions when he reached the kitchen.  “Ada, I thought you were going to wake me up early to cook with you,” Fingon said softly from the doorway.

The laughter died down and Fingolfin said, “Must have slipped my mind.”

A jolt of pain hit Fingon in the chest.  “But we always cook breakfast together on sabbath morning before we go to temple for prayers.”

Still not making eye contact, Fingolfin said, “Well, you are not always here anymore on sabbath.  Sometimes you have meets at the gym, or even further away with your team. I thought it was time I taught your brother how to cook.”

Before he could cause a scene, Fingon excused himself from the room and numbly went back up to his room.  He sat on the bed for a very long time, even beyond hearing the call from Turgon to come for breakfast, and even after Aredhel thumped on the doorway and told him she was going to eat all of his food.  Even after his mother came up to the room, and he burst into tears, and refused to tell her what was the matter so that she finally sighed and told him he had to grow up before she left the room.

For the first time ever, Fingon missed going to the temple that day.  Even on days when he had competitions, he would still find time to pray, even if it was alone beside the bunk of a temporary room.  He felt lost, confused, and lonely, without any way to contact the one person he desperately wanted to be held by in that moment.

When he heard his family return, he went to seek out his father, who was in his den.  Only for the briefest moment did Fingolfin look up before his eyes were back on the papers on his desk.  “Did you need something?”

‘Your approval,’ was all Fingon could think to say, but he shook off this thought.  “I did not mention it when I first got back, but I did very well in the last competition.  I did so well, there is a team willing to take me on as a regular member. It means moving out to that gym, but I can find sponsors for it, they said.”

“And is that what you want?” asked Fingolfin.

Fingon licked his lips and watched his father scribble nonsense on the page before him.  ‘Not really,’ he wanted to say, but instead what came out was, “They keep telling me I have potential.  That I could do more than floor exercises and vaulting.”

“Well, if that is what you want, then I see no reason you should not follow your dreams.”

\---

“And I get the feeling he did not really plan to be a gymnast.  Not...not like he was,” Erestor said carefully. “And I...maybe this is a stretch, but I wonder if part of why he...why the abuse went on without him telling someone is...those were people who praised him and gave him that approval he was craving.”

Elrond did not speak, but the expression on his sensitive face spoke of the pain of empathy. Gildor stared. “The fuck is wrong with most of this family? Am I the only one who--” his thought was cut short by Maedhros’ silent request. “Sorry,” Gildor growled, unable to keep the disgust from his voice. Glorfindel looked away, visibly affected. 

“We approve of him,” Maedhros said firmly. “I can go out of my way to give him affirmation.”

“Me, too,” added Gildor, in better grasp of his own emotions. “And I think you are quite likely correct, Erri. That kind of rejection leaves a very deep scar.”

“Is there more?” Glorfindel asked, determined not to cry even if it meant not fully absorbing what he had just learned.

“There are other memories, and other thoughts, but I feel that was the most dominant,” said Erestor.  “I think Maedhros intends to go after him, and I do not want to cause delay. There are other items I could share.  Something that he thinks about, one of the things I think he is having difficulty putting into words, has to do with...I guess his identity, for lack of a better word.  That seems to be what he was latching onto.”

“What does he feel his identity is?” Maedhros asked softly. “He asked me last night to explain my own. Identity. Then he apologized, saying the question was inappropriate to have asked.”

Erestor placed a hand on Glorfindel’s arm.  “I am going to share what I think is going on in his head, but, Fin, I do not want you to somehow think that you are at fault--at least, I hope you will not think that.”  Erestor cleared his throat. “Fingon has been suppressing some...confused jealousy, no, envy...for how you are, Glorfindel. He most certainly has a desire to embrace certain, for lack of a better way to put it, womanly ways...femininity, I suppose?  Except, every time something happens that reminds him of his physicality--the facial hair, for example, he pushes himself to be more masculine, or at least, more masculine in appearance.” Erestor paused, as if considering which elements to share, and finally said, “I picked up a fleeting thought about how he cut his hair to punish himself for the enjoyment he was having of having it long and loose and fantasizing about that being something he could do without critique from anyone.  Once his thoughts get going, things are very complicated inside his head.”

“He worries a great deal about what others think,” affirmed Maedhros. “Erestor, is there anything you can tell me about how he is feeling right now? For I feel like unless there is more that is very important, I should go to him without further delay.”

“I think anything more I would say would be on a similar theme.  He has kept hidden away that at a crucial time, when he was discovering who he is, the person he most looked up to in his life turned his back on him--and I do not think it was done in hate, no, this is something I have a feeling Fingolfin is still struggling with.  It explains so much,” said Erestor.

“It explains why he hates eggs,” Gildor added, hastily wrapping up the promised food in a cloth and handing it to Maedhros.

“As for what he is feeling right now, I can tell he is resting somewhere.  Not asleep…” Erestor closed his eyes and relaxed, letting his mind extend to where Fingon was.  “It is too quiet for him to be at the library, unless he is in his office...no, this is too big.”  Erestor opened his eyes. “I think he is at the temple.”

“If I go there directly, he will know we are watching him,” Maedhros reflected aloud. “If I do not go there, he may go anywhere at all when he emerges. I will not disturb his spiritual reflections, but I also will be there when he is finished. Gildor, honey, you will help me if I need to send any information back here?” The silvery gray eyes met those of his mate with worry.  _ I feel as though I am asking so much of you. Too much. _

“I will be here,” Gildor answered aloud.  _ No, Mae Mae. I love you now and always. I love you for all this and whatever is to come. _

_ I do not deserve you.  _ Maedhros enfolded his mate into his arms, kissing the crown of his head. “Here I go. Asfaloth? Once we are outside I could very much use a horse that can carry two.”

“At your service!” announced Asfaloth as he rushed outside.  The jingle of bells could be heard soon after. Everyone in the house exited to see Maedhros off and wish him will, with Gildor gently tugging on one of the copper tresses so that Maedhros leaned down to kiss him sweetly before he and Asfaloth raced away.

Gildor watched the pair of them leave. Maedhros had never appeared more heart-wrenchingly beautiful in his determination and intensity. “It is I who do not deserve you,” he whispered to himself.

“Breakfast,” directed Celebrían firmly.  “Whether they return shortly or late, we do not need to be hungry and cranky when they do.  Besides, there are some wedding preparations, are there not?” She ushered them all back inside to wait.

  
  


###  Afternoon - Day 23

A dreary and overcast morning turned into a dreary and overcast afternoon.  When Maedhros and Asfaloth arrived outside of the temple, they sat on a bench across the road to watch the doors.  When the street bustled to life with travelers and peddlers, Maedhros asked Asfaloth to check at the school, in case they had missed Fingon on his way out.  Asfaloth confirmed some time later that not only was Fingon not at the school, he was not in the market, nor in any of the shops or establishments mentioned to him by staff at the library as Fingon’s usual haunts.  

Sitting turned to standing, and standing to pacing.  Finally, when the bells of the temple rang and a crowd of people filtered out without Fingon among them, Maedhros sighed and turned to Asfaloth.  “I am going in,” he said.

“Good luck,” Asfaloth offered, knuckles tapping nervously.

Maedhros was able to slip inside just before the door closed from some of the faithful who were leaving.  He looked back and forth until he spied a lone figure knelt before the trays of candles to one side of the altar.  Those that were lit glittered against the glass holders they were situated in. Maedhros walked briskly to join Fingon, opting first to touch his shoulder ever so lightly with his fingertips, and then to kneel beside him.  “I am sorry I did not listen last night. You were trying to tell me something, and I was worried about your physical needs without thinking of your mental health. Just as I am going to do better about the drinking, I am going to do better about us.”

Fingon pushed his hair back.  There was evidence from the tangles that he had not brushed it that morning.  “I was being unfair to you last night. I was trying to get you to make me tell you--what is that?  Manipulative. Do I mean to be? No. I struggle so much with what I want to say, and what I think I should say, and what I think others want to hear.  And I should know by now that you are just about the very last person who will judge me for my thoughts.”

Tenderly, Maedhros brushed his fingers over Fingon’s cheek.  “I have a confession,” he said.

Fingon glanced up at the statuary depicting Manwë beside a giant Eagle.  “Right place for it,” he replied.

Maedhros opted to put an arm around Fingon’s waist before divulging the secret to him, in case he decided to try to escape.  “You were thinking loud again. We know some of what you have been dwelling on.”

Muscles tensed, but Fingon did not run as Maedhros had suspected.  “Oh,” he said. “I suppose ‘we’ includes everyone.” When Maedhros nodded, Fingon said, “I guess I could ask what you know, but I have to stop playing games and just...if I cannot trust you, and the rest of our family, who can I trust?”

“What did you want to tell me last night?” asked Maedhros, speaking softly near Fingon’s ear even though he saw no one else nearby.

“I told you once long ago that there are times I feel like I should have been born a daughter and not a son,” said Fingon.

Maedhros nodded.  “And then you just about cried yourself sick because you worried that Eru would hear you, and you would insult his plan, and he would find a way to unmake you.”

Fingon frowned and nodded.  “I war with myself a lot. I wish I knew who I was and could stop thinking about who I am supposed to be for other people.”

“You know, what Gildor said that one night--how you need to be a man and not a king--that has been bothering you.”

Fingon chewed his lip.  “Maybe. Never considered that.  The thing is, it has nothing to do with...do I feel like I should be male, or should I have been female...I feel like I should have been...not that.  Something else. Both and neither.”

Maedhros lowered his arm, feeling assured now that Fingon did not plan to flee.  “As much as Laws and Customs ends up dictating for people how they should live, there was a part of it that I felt was shoved aside when it should have been embraced.  There is that part about men and women not being very different from one another, and most of the differences are either related to children, healing, and fighting. And I think as time went on, stereotypes developed, and more of a rift occurred, and...I think what I am trying to say, Finya, is that you are probably a ‘truer’ Elf than most I know.”

“Maybe I need to reread Laws and Customs,” said Fingon.  “I admit I kept being hung up on other parts of it.”

“You have been holding onto an idea that whenever something states that Eru does not intend anyone to be unhappy with how they are born, but, there are two huge flaws in all of that.  First, what you wake up to in between your legs does not dictate how you have to feel, act, and present yourself. All of those things are society-based. Did Eru ever publicly state that only ladies can wear dresses?”

Fingon realized after a moment of silence that he was to answer.  “No,” he said softly.

“Heck no,” Maedhros said a little louder than Fingon had spoken.  “And second, fuck the Laws and Customs. Did Eru write it?”

Fingon shook his head.  

“Heck no again,” Maedhros exclaimed a little louder, but still in a whisper.  “Finya, no matter what you wear, or what you want me to call you, or how you want to act, or even what you want to do with your body--provided, if there is anything any of us can do so that you do not hurt yourself, even if it is hurting me, let us help you, Finya.  We love you. No one is going to deny you happiness. We want that for you. Please.”

Fingon leaned his head on Maedhros’ shoulder with a sigh.  “I do not even know what I want. There were some things I did in the privacy of the theatre, but…”

“There is no expectation that overnight everything will change, but I want you to feel free to explore without perceived boundaries.  You kind of did that night on the roof,” said Maedhros, dropping his voice as he stared at the wick of a burning candle. “I hope you still have that skirt somewhere.”

“I forgot about that.”  Fingon straightened up again and rubbed his head.

“Another headache?” worried Maedhros.

“Sort of.  I had one when I woke up.  It got worse when I came here, which is why I stayed so long.  I got sick before the first service, and the cleric let me lie down in a room to the side.  He had just woken me up before you came in here,” said Fingon. 

“And now?”

“Headache is a lot less, but it was still bad when I woke up.”  Fingon folded his hands in front of him. “Actually, I have not prayed yet.  Are you the only one who came to look for me?”

“Asfaloth is with me, probably deflowering all the horse-maidens in the alleyways,” Maedhros said.

“Do you mind terribly if I take a moment before we leave?  I assume it has to be late,” said Fingon.

“Just past noon,” Maedhros said.  “Take all the time you need.” For a few moments, Maedhros simply watched Fingon.  He meant to be silent, but in the venue they were in, he felt he needed to explain himself.  “I remember coming to places like this with my mother on high holy days. She would make my brothers and I get dressed up and we would walk to whichever place was closest depending on where we were.  Sometimes, I even went on my own, just...when I needed to. Then, we left Valinor, and I never went back.”

Hearing all of this for the first time, Fingon focused on Maedhros instead of his prayers.  “Why did you stop?” he asked.

“I was taught that during the service, it was disrespectful not to pray if someone said ‘let us pray’, and…”  Maedhros rested his wrists on the barrier between them and the candles. “I could not for the life of me figure out how to do that.  Please; I did not tell you this to bring you guilt--I just feel like I--” Maedhros paused as Fingon unthreaded his own hands, and then reached his right hand around to join his hand with Maedhros’ left one.

“What if we do this?” asked Fingon uncertainly as he looked into Maedhros’ eyes.

Maedhros nodded and squeezed Fingon’s hand.  “This is fine. Nice.” He smiled. “Thank you.”

“Do you recall any of the prayers you used to say?” asked Fingon.

“A few of them.”

“Go ahead,” encouraged Fingon.  “You lead; I will follow.”

Ten minutes later, they emerged from the temple, hand in hand.  Asfaloth was nowhere to be found. “Do we check the alleys first, or the pasture?” wondered Fingon.

“I am right here!” Asfaloth said overly loudly, clicking his knuckles together. “You left me alone and I felt nervous. Glorfindel told me no more mares unless…” he frowned. “Something about...wait. He said not every mare in sight, so did that mean I could still have all but one?” His foot stamped in clear frustration, then he began actually hopping in place, which only drew attention to the bulge in his projected trousers. “Do you know how hard it is not to--”

Maedhros’ hand came around to muffle the next word, given that the horse was shouting loud enough to attract attention from distant passers-by. “I do, actually. We are all boys here, Asfaloth, that understand...wanting to. But right now Fingon has a headache, and he was not to walk in the first place.” He released Asfaloth’s mouth, and now looked at Fingon. “So please do not shout. I think we should just go back home, Fin, but I will go along with whatever you insist on. You are not well and it is already past mid-day. I wish you would rest.”

“Oh, I did not walk,” Fingon said.  “I took one of the horses, but I left him at the school and then walked to the temple--so I suppose I walked a little, but not all the way here.”

Asfaloth looked a little guilty.  “I mean...maybe I was distracted at one point...because...well, if I already had one of the mares, and she encourages it, why can I not--”  Once again, Maedhros had his hand over the horse’s mouth.

“I promise we will work this out with Glorfindel. At home. Please no more talking about intercourse while we are here in town? Especially nothing about intercourse with horses when you are in this form.  It is more than frowned upon.”

Asfaloth nodded, and Maedhros released him for a second time. “So then we are back to Fingon’s decision for what to do next. For wherever he goes, I go.” The redhead tilted his chin up in determined love, just in case there was any doubt that the last part he had mention was not negotiable.

“I do not want to make it a habit of not coming to work,” said Fingon after he contemplated his options.  “I need to retrieve my horse either way. What if we go to the library, make an appearance as it were, and see how it goes?  Before then, though...I am so hungry, but I know I do not have many options.”

Inwardly Maedhros cursed himself for having already eaten the food with which Gildor sent him, though...what difference would that have made? Fingon could not eat those foods. “Surely there is somewhere near we could get broth or fruit juice? I want you to have something, if that is possible.”

“Someone has to have something.  A street vendor or an inn...I just know I have nothing in my office that I can eat.”

“I will see you to your office and I will go out and find something suitable. What I will not allow is you wandering the town in search of something that fits Elrond’s instructions. Fair enough?” he asked. “You will ride Asfaloth while I walk at your side. We will collect your horse together. Asfaloth, if you would not mind?”

Without protest, Fingon mounted Asfaloth, who had discreetly walked behind a shrubbery and emerged on the other side in his equine form.  “Come on up here,” insisted Fingon to Maedhros. “He is strong enough to carry both of us.”

Lightly springing into Asfaloth’s back to take his weight first on his hand before gripping the horse’s sides with his calves, he slid into place tightly behind Fingon. “You know best where we are going,” Maedhros pointed out. Then, he reached out with his mind.  _ Gildor? Gildor, he actually wants food. He never wants food. Where in fuck do I find the kind of food Elrond said he could have in this place? Help! _

At the cottage, Gildor spilled his card house. “Oh, dammit,” he mused when the surprise caused him a moment of incoordination. “Fin! FIN?”

“I am  _ OUTSIDE _ ,” came the muted reply that clearly was being yelled at significant volume. 

“Of course you are,” Gildor sighed, tossing the rest of the deck on the table. Pissing away time on card houses was the last thing he was supposed to be doing right now, but lack of sleep meant lack of motivation.  He needed to muster his usually sunny disposition. Trotting through the house and outside, he found Glorfindel with his easel. “Sorry about that, I should not be so lazy. Maedhros just spoke to me. Fingon is actually hungry and he has no idea where to get what Fingon is supposed to eat. Ideas?”

“Well, are they at the library?” Glorfindel asked. “Where they are sort of matters.”

“I guess so?” whined Gildor. “He did not say, but that is where they are supposed to be, right?”

Sighing, Glorfindel closed his eyes. “There is a better way to do this, and it is named Erestor.” It only took a moment to reach the comfort of his mate’s comfortably chaotic mind.

_ Fin? Is something wrong?  _ Erestor asked worriedly, almost misspelling a word of what he was writing.

_ No, sweetie, except that our husband desires food and Maedhros has no knowledge of where to get it. Can you advise him? You are certainly closer than I am,  _ Glorfindel sent. 

_ Am I? _ Erestor retorted.  _ They never came here today. Fingon is not at work. _

_ I have the impression that they may be arriving, and soon. Can you just tell me what to tell Gildor to tell Maedhros? Please, sweetie?  _ Glorfindel tried to remember if they had ever quite done this much farspeaking by relay. 

Erestor pondered but only for a moment.  _ Leave this with me, Fin. If they do not come here soon I will give you an answer but I do not believe you or Maedhros will need it. _

The usual small endearments were exchanged before the connection was severed. Glorfindel turned to Gildor. “I am really lost. Erestor said he would manage it, so, tell that to Maedhros and we will hope Ress knows what he is doing?”

“Uh-huh,” Gildor answered, not exactly inspired with confidence.  _ Mae Mae? Erri says he is on it. My best interpretation of that is, get Fingon to where you both were supposed to be. Something like that. A thousand kisses, lover… _

Maedhros did not really know what to do with that response, but he could follow directions. “Are we there yet?” he asked Fingon mischievously.

Fingon looked over his shoulder.  “What are you, a five-year-old elfling?  Of course we are not there yet...next you are going to tell me you need to stop to...actually...this road is pretty bumpy...Asfaloth, can you get us down an alleyway?  I do not think my bladder will make it to the library.”

A snort from the horse sufficed. He could probably even help hide what Fingon was doing, because some road apples were pretty much ready to drop. As inconspicuously as possible for a stunning white stallion, he casually walked into an alley wide enough to allow for him turning around, and stood perpendicular to the buildings on either side.

“Go on, Finya. After last time, I am staying up here. At least then I cannot be accused of...accusations.”

Asfaloth held out his tail like a curtain, trying to he helpful.

Fingon slid off of Asfaloth and hastily, yet still with grace, dropped his drawers while facing a corner where two buildings met.  “You know, I just thought of something a penis is good for. If I had to squat every time I needed to take a piss, I would be...well, pissed off.”

“It is indeed an advantage.” Maedhros was about to tell of the device he had seen his mother use of her own invention to assist with that problem but thought better of it. Anything that convinced Fingon to retain his penis was very much in his own interest. Asfaloth, making the most of this conversation, extended his far more impressive penis and urinated.

“You there!  What is all this?”

“Oh, fuck me,” Fingon cursed, hearing the familiar voice of the watchman from the other night.  Unable to stop the flow, and unable to speed things up, Fingon looked up as the watchman strolled around the side of Asfaloth and narrowed his eyes at Fingon.  “Just watering the foundation, sir,” he said without being asked. 

“Watering the foundation.  You are lucky I do not write these for sass.”  The book was produced just as Fingon finished and pulled up his pants.  “You look familiar. You been in trouble with me before?”

Before Fingon could try to talk his way out of it, the sound of two carriages colliding on the street was followed by three dozen angry chickens running in all directions, including down the alleyway.  The watchman stood with his quill poised, looked beyond the alleyway, and then shoved the items back into his satchel. “Find a privy next time!” he shouted at Fingon as he jogged to the roadway, scooping up a chicken as he ran.

Maedhros extended his arm to Fingon, who did not protest at being lifted up to Asfaloth’s back. The horse walked smoothly but swiftly away from that place, expelling his pile of manure as near as possible to the sentry.

“Finya? No more alleys. Ever.” Maedhros whispered into his lover’s ear.

Fingon gave a chuckle and then twisted his head back to whisper to Maedhros, “When I am king, I shall build a private alleyway and I shall piss and fuck in it whenever I want.”

Asfaloth whinnied approval.

“Or you could just build more privies and private gardens,” the redhead teased.

“Obviously, you would not want to fuck in a privy, so is this how you are telling me you would like a private garden for us to fuck in?” asked Fingon, somehow forgetting for a moment that Asfaloth was not just any horse, and there was a good chance his words would be repeated later.  “Maybe we could have a fountain in the middle, with a ledge at just the right height, surrounded by thornless rose bushes. I should stop before this fantasy causes me to need another alleyway.”

“You seem to be feeling a little better today,” Maedhros ventured carefully. “In spirit. If that is so, I am grateful.”

“I am attempting to convince myself not to pretend or suppress anymore,” answered Fingon.  “I have watched the rest of you hug, kiss, flirt, and otherwise do as others do. My optimism is growing that I will not suddenly be struck by lightning.”  He boldly managed to nip Maedhros’ ear. “If someone wants to stare, let them stare. I am tired of hiding in alleys, closets, and other dark and undesirable places.  Except, the alleyways I would build as king would be wide, with ample light, and all of the amenities.”

Maedhros chuckled. “Then you would not object if I wrapped my arms around you here in full view of everyone?” This was too good to be true, and he was used to the possibility of wild vacillations with Fingon. Best be conservative, for now.

“Do it,” Fingon commanded, and to punctuate his reply, he turned his head again and wove a hand into Maedhros’ hair.  Slowly, he opened his mouth as he pressed his lips against Maedhros’ mouth. Tongues tangled, and Fingon even gave a little grunt before he eased back and licked his lips.  “Let them see.”

“I am very proud of you,” Maedhros praised. “And I will be even prouder when we get to your library and get you fed.” He finger combed through the hair that often tried to be unruly. “How is your headache right now?”

Fingon stretched one arm over his head as the school came into sight.  “Still annoying, but I can think around it.”

“When you are inside and seated I will try to massage your head. And get fluids into you. It is very important to keep you hydrated,” Maedhros fussed.

Once Asfaloth was situated in a stall designated for employee use, Fingon and Maedhros walked hand in hand to the library.  Erestor, who was sitting at the main desk, smiled not only in greeting, but with a genuine warmth in his heart from the sight.  “There is food for you in your office,” he said after deciding a hug for each of them was not entirely inappropriate. “It should still be warm.”

“If it is not,” Inarata declared, “I will find a place to warm it for you!  I would be happy to help!”

“Yes; you are always happy to help, and I very much appreciate that,” said Fingon.  He and Maedhros continued on to the office, however, when the door was closed, food was not the first thing on Fingon’s mind.  He pivoted around and backed Maedhros against the closed door, then leaned up and kissed him with quiet insistence. “That is a taste for later,” he said with a drawl to his voice.

“You,” Maedhros booped Fingon on the nose, “are going to be my greatest trial today, this I can see. For I am tasked with obeying Elrond’s instructions  _ and  _ ensuring you do so as well. Finya, I will quietly kiss you, I will tie you down in a chair and suck you off, I will have all your husbands sit on you while I stroke you with my hand, I will rub your ears until you burst again and again, but you are  _ not _ going to do anything to exert yourself. I mean it, even if it costs me a day-long erection I cannot relieve. Am I understood?” The expression in the grey eyes was one of steeled determination, though his trousers already bulged with the evidence of his want.

Fingon’s hands had transitioned down to rest on Maedhros’ shoulders, and the further Maedhros went on, the faster Fingon’s breathing could be heard, until, as Maedhros demanded an answer, Fingon swallowed hard with a shudder.  “Uhm...I have a problem,” he said softly. His cheeks were rosy, and while he was not erect, there was a slowly forming wet spot at the front of his trousers.

“That is not a problem. That is a compliment,” Maedhros stated firmly, leading Fingon to his chair. “You are to sit in your chair and not get up, citing doctor’s orders if need be. While there, you are to eat your food. I will care for the need for fresh clothing.” He smoothly guided an unresisting lover to his desk and gently seated him. “I love everything about you, Finya,” he whispered into Fingon’s ear. “You are in every way beautiful.” With a kiss to his brow, Maedhros disappeared out the door, closing it behind him. If he was very lucky, Erestor kept extra head coverings here at work.

Erestor was still sitting at the desk, wearing a smirk as he played with the tassels of his scarf.  “We pride ourselves here at the library at being able to fulfill the needs of the patrons. It is such an honor to see that we have a patron able to fulfill the needs of the librarian.  That was also one of the best times I have had eavesdropping on someone’s mind in a long while.”

Maedhros lowered his voice to the barest murmur. “I will not forget his exquisite sensitivity again.” The corners of his lips curled in a smile. “Mostly I want to keep his mood positive, though perhaps not quite so...well. If you have been following along you know this has already been an interesting day.”

Erestor nodded, his expression not changing. “Fortunately, I keep a change of clothing for him here. He does not know of it, though I suppose he will now. Sooner or later he was going to have an accident with food, drink, or...what have you, and it upsets him to appear other than neat and publicly presentable. If he frets about anyone wondering why he has changed trousers, simple. He spilled something on them.” The little bag of clothing was removed from the depths of Erestor’s desk and handed over to Maedhros.

“Spilled,” Maedhros echoed, shaking his head. “Remind me never to engage in a war of banter with you, Master Erestor. For I would surely lose.”

Erestor did not yet release the bag, his smirk fading to a far more serious mien. “Thank you, with all of my spirit, for opening your heart to him once again.”

Maedhros nodded, smiling. “I think we all thank each other, Erestor.”

  
  
  


###  Late Afternoon - Day 23

It was after lunch when Elrond found Gildor exactly where he expected to find him--still at the table, still with his deck of cards.  However, the cards were abandoned, and there were two blue tickets with embossed seals on them. “Do you plan to trade them in for a later date?” asked Elrond.

“I think there is still the thought of going to the mainland to confront Indis and several other people who have caused unhappiness in Erestor’s life and Fingon’s life and life in general,” said Gildor.  “It is like the tale of the hay, the sheep, and the wolf.”

“Ah, so you are not sure who should go and who should stay,” acknowledged Elrond.  “Well, what if there were four tickets and not two?”

“Four?”

“The ones you and Maedhros have, and the ones that Celebrían and I have.  She and I could always wait and take a different ship back.”

The conversation in the kitchen carried to the greenhouse, where Glorfindel and Celebrían were working on floral arrangements for the wedding.  They emerged and joined Elrond and Gildor at the table to discuss the matter. “We can stay a while longer,” agreed Celebrían. “That frees up two more spaces.  Our tickets are not valid for use for another five days, though, so it would still split up your group, and you are still one short.”

“Fingon most needs to go.  We need to build the escort around him,” Glorfindel said.  “Part of me is hesitant to suggest he leave just at a time when it seems he might be able to make a breakthrough, but then, maybe this is the push he needs for that to happen.  And maybe he needs to confront his demons to get there.”

“I think,” offered Elrond, “and perhaps this is unpopular, but I think Maedhros needs to go with Fingon.  Erestor needs to stay here to oversee the harvest and do whatever it is he can about the library with Fingon away.  Gildor seems to have taken an interest, and Glorfindel, you already talked about this being the last part of the tourist season that you use to sell paintings.”

“I would like to be able to assist with the harvest and selling the paintings,” Gildor said.  “As for Mae Mae, yes, I think he is the best choice under the current circumstances.”

“Of all of us, Fingon currently seems most likely to listen to Maedhros,” admitted Glorfindel.  “If he is away, I would like him to have the best chance possible not to relapse, not to seek out a gym to practice, not to let the depressive thoughts in his mind lead him to harming himself.  I think, if it is only one of us, it should be Maedhros.”

“What will Erri think?” Gildor asked, chewing his lip. “I hate to just keep dumping things on him.”

“He will not see it that way,” Glorfindel insisted. “Erestor has changed more than I would have thought possible. He knows he cannot go himself; his stability is aided by the routines of his life here. And honestly...Gildor, this may be odd for you to hear, but right now his connection to you is in some ways more important than what he has with Fingon and I. You represent the healing of something very dark from his past. Hope,for the future. Right now you are an anchor for him. I feel very safe in saying that you will have his unreserved blessing.”

Gildor was at a slight loss for words. “I so badly want to say something brazen and overconfident and I cannot. I hope I am not losing my moxie,” he wrung his hands, but then abandoned that in favor of fluffing his hair out.

“You cannot ever lose your moxie, sweetcakes,” Glorfindel smiled. “Be a darling and hand me two more of those little white button roses, will you?”  Celebrían had retrieved their work from the greenhouse rather quickly, sensing the discussion in the kitchen would not be brief. Soon, all four were enlisted into making centerpieces and other decorations.  

“This is going to sound harsh, but I am so glad we are not having Fingon help us with this,” said Celebrían.  “He attempted a centerpiece arrangement once when he was staying with us when...well, in the past,” she said, quickly cutting herself off.  “Anyhow, he literally tossed debris into a bowl and stuck some feathers into it--”

“Also debris,” Elrond said.

“--and called it done.  A doodle bug rolled out of it at one point.”

“We all have our talents,” Gildor said as he crafted another delicate arrangement.  “He can run circles around the rest of us in most other things, he has to have at least one thing where he lacks skill.”

Glorfindel’s brows knitted together briefly as he tried to piece out when this visit of Fingon’s might have been and…oh. He closed his eyes briefly against that long and sad tale, that should have no admittance here, under the pretense of smelling a flower. “Decoration is indeed not his forte,” the blond agreed. “Organization, however...I like to think he had a turn at being King for a reason. I think even you would have been impressed, Elrond,” he added softly.

A low chuckle escaped Elrond. “I never considered myself a pinnacle of organization, Glorfindel. I had staff for that. Very capable staff, I might add. I always felt like most of my job involved wearing a ring and worrying while appearing to be doing neither.”

“And you did it very well, sweetheart,” Celebrían complimented, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

Meanwhile, Gildor was back to his cards.  He had several placed face-up on the table and was maneuvering them around in different arrangements.

“Everything alright?” asked Glorfindel as he peered over.

“I am just trying to figure it all out.  Obviously, Fingon and Maedhros over to the mainland first,” Gildor said as he slid the cards to one side.  “But then…” Gildor set out three cards meaning to represent himself, Glorfindel, and Erestor. “Now what?”

Celebrían took up the rest of the deck, sorted through it, and pulled out a joker.  “Which one is Glorfindel?” she asked. 

Gildor tapped the cavalier card that was on the table.  Celebrían paired it up with the joker.

“Who is that?” asked Gildor.

“Asfaloth.  Maedhros and Fingon, then Glorfindel and Asfaloth, and Erestor and you stay here with Elrond and I for the harvest.  Both of us have experience harvesting; it would be fun. Kind of a little Rivendell retreat,” she said.

“Really?” Gildor asked, very touched. “You would want to help with all the picking and canning? Fingon warned me what it was like in past years. It had an air of being both intimidating and sounding like what we will be surviving on this winter,” he joked, but only slightly. In a house filled with mostly plant-eaters, having all that in storage was not really a joke at all.

“It probably seems to be an odd vacation, but Celebrían and I were discussing it the other day, and we thought it might be a nice sort of adventure,” explained Elrond.  “Also, as much as I want to be near to where Fingon will be in order to administer medical attention if needed, I would rather stay by Gildor. I have to choose, in this case, between the patient who is complying and the patient I hope will comply.”

“For the record, I am the good boy, right?” asked Gildor hopefully.

Elrond answered this by reaching across the table to pat Gildor on the top of the head.

Gildor grinned. There had been a time, a very long time, when he never would have cared (not even a tiny bit) if the words ‘good boy’ ever applied to him. By his own response, he apparently did care and found the change a welcome one--not the restriction he always imagined it would be.

###  Evening - Day 23

“I declare this day to be done.  This work day, that is,” Erestor said as he stood in the doorway of the office.  It was past supper, and while Erestor had busied himself with other tasks, as soon as his stomach began to growl he sought out those who had taken up residence in the office.

“Just a few more minutes,” Fingon said.  He was hunched over documents, transferring information from one to another.

“Is this crucial?” asked Erestor, who leaned in the doorway and tilted his head to look.  “Because I think you can finish it tomorrow.”

Maedhros, from his position a little behind Fingon and to the side, had a stellar view of the document being inscribed. “I second Erestor’s observation,” he added. “And I also notice that while your husband is comporting himself very politely, he is very tired of peeking into this doorway to see if you have yet finished your work. You have requested an extension no less than four times.  There is weariness in his eyes. Enough, Finya. It is time to go home and eat.”

“Just one more…”  Fingon swallowed the rest of the sentence and shook his head as he set the quill down.  “Sorry.” He stared at the documents. “I really want to take this home to finish.” He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at them.  “I suppose I am tired as well. And hungry.”

“I think I can, I think I can,” Maedhros teased, earning a smile from Erestor.

“Hmm?  You think you can what?” questioned Fingon, who, now that he had abandoned his work, was beginning to feel the fatigue set in.

“I think I can get you out of here and home. At least, assuming Asfaloth did not give up on us so that we have to walk.”

“Between my horse and Fingon’s horse, we should be able to manage,” said Erestor.  “I am more worried that Asfaloth decided to start introducing himself to the ‘eligible mares’ stabled here.”

“I thought he said that he would not and we--” Maedhros statement was cut short by an arched eyebrow from Erestor. “Oh. Then, I suppose we will find what we will find.”

Fingon began to gather items to take with him into a pile on the desk--the clothing he had worn earlier, the paperwork that he had been working on now that the ink was dry, and a few other items.  “I should check on the rest of the staff before we go.”

“Finya.” Maedhros told him as kindly as possible. “They have already gone home. We are the last ones here.”

Still standing in the doorway, Erestor stifled a yawn.

“What?  No...the library closed?”

“Yes,” Erestor answered, doing his level best to keep any crossness out of his voice.

Fingon groaned and stretched his legs.  “No wonder I feel so stiff. And cold.”

Maedhros rolled his eyes, determined to exercise patience. “All the more reason to return home, sweetie. I ask you to leave those papers here. This is work. Here. Home is home. There. You had surgery yesterday. Food. Rest. Not pissing off Elrond or your other husband more than we already will have done. Please?”

Sheepishly, Fingon pushed the papers back to the middle of the desk, put away the other items, and rolled his clothing up so that he could tuck it under his arm.  “Sorry. I suppose I lose track of time a lot here.”

Erestor approached, and stole a brief kiss. Taking Fingon’s unresisting hand, he led their way out of the building and to where horses ought to be.

While Asfaloth was nowhere to be found, the other two horses were waiting patiently. Fingon let out a yawn and rubbed his arms.  Not only had he needed to change his pants, but he had spilled soup on himself at lunch, and had to change his shirt as well. Even in the warmer months, it was not uncommon for Fingon to wear a shirt with longer sleeves or a jacket with his attire, but today, with only the backup clothing available, he had short sleeves.  Add to this a breeze from the changing tide nearby, and he was shivering a little. “How should we do this?” he asked.

“You are to ride with Mae, so that he can keep you warmer.” Erestor tried to mask the dismay in his voice. He was not pleased that Fingon had disregarded so many instructions, so Elrond really would not be. “And we will be on our way.  Up with you,” Erestor said, insisting on giving Fingon a leg up onto his horse, something which Maedhros declined. Moments later, they departed the stables.

  
  


###  Late Evening - Day 23

Elrond took one look at Fingon when the trio entered the kitchen and shook his head.  “No work tomorrow,” he declared.

“But--”

“If I have to enlist your husbands to tie you to the bed to ensure it, I will,” threatened Elrond.  “I am your healer, and I say no. You overworked yourself--a direct violation of the instructions for care that I issued--and you unnecessarily put strain on your body.  From this point on, you will be treated as a patient in a house of healing. You will take yourself to bed immediately and stay there.”

“What if I need-”

“There is nothing you need to do that cannot be done in that bed.  Now, if you want to make a scene, go ahead. I am sure I can have someone carry you up there if you are going to refuse.”

Erestor stood a little behind Maedhros, coward that he was, because he had to take at least a small moment for the insufferable smirk that wanted to erupt on his face to do so. All day long he had daydreamed about just such an outcome as this, and he could not be happier. Elrond was doing what he could not, and what Glorfindel hoped not to have to do. These thoughts of overzealous desire to help Fingon were in good order--at least until the memories of Glorfindel and others begging him to not be exactly the same were suddenly recalled. The smirk vanished; now he just felt weary. “I will go on ahead and turn the bed down. Ensure you have what you need,” the dark one said in something close to a monotone. Maedhros raised an eyebrow at Erestor’s shift in demeanor. They were all a little tired. Heartily endorsing Elrond’s speech yet not wanting Fingon to feel too persecuted, Maedhros cleared his throat a little and stared off at the table where Gildor liked to stack his cards.

Fingon scratched his arm.  “Can I at least--”

“NO.”  Elrond sternly pointed in the direction of the stairs.  “You have five seconds.”

Fingon contemplated the situation for three and a half seconds before he decided further arguments would only make the situation that much worse.  He walked to the base of the steps, turned his head to see that Elrond was right behind him, and continued up to the bedroom. He stayed out of Erestor’s way as he stripped off the work clothing and crawled into bed.  “Now what?” he asked.

“Sit up so I can place these pillows behind you, unless you wish to lie flat at this time,” Erestor asked softly. When Fingon did not seem to comply with taking either position, Erestor frowned. “Káno, I love you with all the depths of my spirit, which is why I am going to be very honest right now. I have worried all day long about your disregard of your health, which causes me pain to see. I have exercised forbearance when I, too, am tired, waiting for you to finally be pried away from your desk at work, where you were too absorbed to notice that the workday was long over with. I fretted more, seeing you take a chill on our ride home. Now you are still offering opposition to the help being pressed upon you. It is long since I boxed and wrestled in Gondolin, but so help me if you do not lean forward or lie down right now I will show you the meaning of being laid flat. I am at the very end of my patience.” Erestor’s voice trembled and he fought back tears that were threatening to fall as he held onto the pair of fluffy pillows with his body coiled with tension.

From the doorway, Maedhros watched this speech with considerable surprise, never having heard any such words from Erestor before. Elrond...who knew what Elrond thought, give or take that the eyebrow was fixed in displeasure.

Slowly, Fingon straightened himself.  “Sorry, Eres,” he mumbled. As he waited for the adjustments to be made, Fingon watched as Elrond carried a wooden tray with a variety of items on it around the bed and set them on a table.  “What is all that?” he demanded.

“Insurance,” Elrond replied.  He lifted up one of the implements.  “Do you recognize this? You should be able to recall them from when Erestor was my patient long-term.  Now, if your feet hit the floor, not only am I going to have you tied to the bed, but instead of a bed pan, I will insert a catheter.  Instead of broth and mush, I can have you restrained and place a tube down your throat from your nostril to feed you. So this is your final choice,” Elrond said firmly.

In the meantime, the sharp pattern of words from Elrond attracted attention elsewhere in the house right about the same time the nervous knuckle knocking of Asfaloth informed the two party planners that the rest of their household had finally returned home. Creeping inside and managing to avoid the squeak on the stairs, they snuck up to occupy a position within sight of Maedhros but not at all in the doorway. Glorfindel’s lips parted when he heard Erestor’s ultimatum, followed by Elrond’s, and some of the color drained from his face. With a very worried expression, he caught Maedhros’ eye.

Gildor pulled Glorfindel back and whispered very softly. “He is unhurt. Let Mae Mae explain downstairs.” Nodding, Glorfindel swallowed hard and remained still, taking Gildor’s hand for comfort.

Fingon hugged his arms around himself.  “I am sure you know, or at least must be able to figure out that I have been injured in the past when I was still competing.  For all my dexterity, I never mastered using all of those contraptions meant to allow someone to urinate while lying down. If you intend to keep me here, you might as well just use the catheter now and save us all trouble.”

Elrond frowned slightly, then took a chair and carried it across the room.  “Erestor, where is the chamber pot?” he asked. Erestor pointed, and Elrond moved the thankfully empty item to the bedside.  “The only reason you are allowed to exit the bed is to use this.” Elrond placed it on the chair. “Keep it here so that you have less distance to aim to.  That is it. You empty your bladder, you get back into bed. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Fingon confirmed, relaxing enough that his eyelids drooped slightly.

“That is all you have to say?” Erestor asked, his voice still betraying a considerable amount of agitation. Glorfindel stepped toward the doorway but Maedhros deftly blocked him while Gildor tugged backwards.

“Please,” was the only barely voiced word from Gildor. It held Glorfindel in place but he was growing unhappier by the minute.

Fingon looked up at Erestor.  “I am sorry--what am I supposed to say?  I fucked up, sure, on my own account, but you do realize, I go there because I am thinking about the rest of you here, and how we need that stable income.  Yes, I made some bad choices today, but I cannot take them back, and, I would probably do the same thing again. I am sorry, Eres--I thought I could handle it.  I did not walk there, I dd not practice, I just...I tried,” he settled on.

Erestor, chin trembling, went to the other side of the bed. Stripping off his clothes and not caring who saw him do so, he climbed in the other side and went completely under the covers. He formed himself tightly into a fetal position with his back against Fingon and remained that way. Maedhros stared helplessly at Elrond, not knowing what to make of either of them.

As much as Fingon actually needed to to use the chamber pot, he had more important business.  “Excuse me,” was all he said before he, too, disappeared under the blankets and curled himself around Erestor. ‘Eres?  What can I do? Please tell me.’

“You are doing it. But maybe piss first,” came the muffled answer. 

Torn between wanting to comfort Erestor and really needing to relieve himself, Fingon hastily moved to the edge of the bed and said to Elrond, “I need to take a piss.”

“By all means,” said Elrond.

Fingon waited a moment, and then pressed, “With you standing there?”

“I already told you.  You are my patient,” Elrond reiterated.

With little energy left to argue, Fingon crawled out of bed, used the chamber pot, and got immediately back into bed again, where he resumed his position, snuggling up against Erestor.

From the side of the room, Elrond announced, “Your urine is far too dark.  This is a sure sign of dehydration. I am prescribing one liter of water before you sleep tonight.”

Gildor now relaxed his hold on Glorfindel, who moved forward to see that his two husbands were apparently a shapeless and immobile mass under the covers. He stared at Elrond, Maedhros and Gildor in turn, and walked back downstairs shaking his head and muttering a stream of things no one else could hear. Watching him go, Gildor shrugged and melted into Maedhros’ welcoming embrace with almost childlike happiness.  _ Mae Mae I am so proud of you but I missed you so much today. I love you love you love you. _

Maedhros enfolded Gildor in his arms.  Hunched over, his large form seemed to dwarf Gildor in that moment.   _ I missed you, too, sweet pea.  As you can see, the King has been sassy and his subjects need to subdue him for his own good.  You have had a nice time preparing for the ceremony, I wager? _

_ Mostly. Glorfindel started to worry because of what happened with Fingon. Then he decided that it might be very good, because it would require Fingon to rise to the occasion. After that it was easy to get him to make ribbon roses. If we have plenty of those we do not have to stress as much over whether Asfaloth eats the flowers. _

_ Ribbon roses.  Most certainly sounds like something I would not be able to accomplish.  Maybe I can just make some ribbon vines,  _ he joked.  He kissed the top of Gildor’s head, and then leaned down even lower to kiss his lips.   _ Remind me to tell you later when things are not so tense why Fingon returned wearing clothing different from what he left in. _

The kiss was returned with an eager hunger.  _ Is it anything to do with what I think might happen in my pants if we kiss a little more like this? _

_ Maybe.   _ Maedhros smoothed back Gildor’s hair.  “Perhaps we could go somewhere to talk, and so that we will not be in the way here.”   _ You could show me the roof,  _ he added.

_ Yes please,  _ Gildor immediately answered.  _ I even have hopeful oil in my pocket.  _ Immediately he turned, loosely grasping Maedhros’ hand, to walk to the stairs.  _ Because I feel so hopeful? _

Agreeable, Maedhros allowed himself to be led along. Finally, something that would happen today without struggle or coaxing, and they were both almost guaranteed a favorable outcome.

  
  


###  Much Later in the Evening - Day 23

“How is your patient fairing?” asked Celebrían.  She was in bed already, but was knitting while reading, the book propped up on her knees as she worked on a sock that looked quite large.

“Shitty.”  While Elrond’s vocabulary was typically an example of Elven elegance, it was times like this in the company of his wife that his mannish side took over.  “The fuck is his problem? I know what some of his problems are, but...just...a child. A grown child. Worse than Erestor.”

Celebrían gave a mocking gasp as she set aside her amusements and beckoned Elrond to her.  Without removing his clothing, Elrond sat down on the bed and allowed himself to be accepted into her arms.  “Worse than Erestor is pretty bad. He used to scare off all of your assistants,” she recalled.

“I can take ornery.  I can take Erestor’s swearing and muttering and pouting over bitter tasting medicines, but at least he let me help him.  He bitched to high heaven, Eru Himself probably heard his grandson’s complaints, but he let me bandage him up, he stayed in the healing wing when I ordered it, and stayed in bed when I told him to, and generally rested--and when he did not, he had a damned good reason.  I still remember when we were at the Last Alliance, and he was injured near the end. He wanted to just rush in and sacrifice himself, and I told him no, and he listened. Maybe Ereinion told him. Either way--”

“That is your answer,” Celebrían interrupted.

Elrond sat up a little and rested his chin on Celebrían’s shoulder.  He played with her long silver-gold curls. “I should get Ereinion to tell him to listen to me?  That could work.”

“No.  You need the High King to tell him.”

“You want me to get Finwë to speak with him?”

“No.”

Elrond frowned and now started to loosely braid some of her hair with some of his.  “Babycakes, you know how sad I get when I am confused.”

“Oh, but you look so adorable.  Let me see that face,” she said, baby talking to him as she took his face between her hands.  “Aww. Look at those sad eyes.”

“They are the only eyes I have,” he said, speaking back to her in the same tone of voice.

“Oohhh…” Celebrían kissed his brow.  “Who was High King in Middle-earth?” she asked in her normal voice.

“Ereinion.”

“After Ereinion.”

Elrond rolled his eyes.  “You know that Gildor and I both agreed not to make claim to that title.  It was best to leave the unification of Elvendom in the past.”

“But technically…”  Celebrían tapped her finger on Elrond’s chest.

Elrond sighed.  “You think I should go in there and assert myself not as a healer, but as the rightful heir to the title of High King?”

“Can it possibly make things worse?” asked Celebrían.  “I think it is worth a try. Come on! I can help,” she offered as she shoved the covers off of her legs and found her slippers.  “Let me see… you need a cloak,” she decided as she went to the closet to go through the items they brought with them. “Ah! You can use this,” she said as she emerged with a silk bedsheet.  

“What about this?” questioned Elrond as he stood up and went to the curtains.  They were ornate, and happened to be blue and silver. 

“Even better,” agreed Celebrían as she tossed the sheet back into the closet.  The pair liberated the curtain from the pole over the window. It only took a little modification to make it work as a long cloak fit for a King.  “Shoes,” she said, and Elrond removed his house slippers while Celebrían retrieved his leather riding boots. “You need some sort of a sash or a belt,” she assessed as he laced his boots.

“By all means.  I trust your judgement in this matter,” Elrond said.  “I could use an entourage. Do you think there is anyone to provide that?”

“At the very least, Asfaloth will willingly assist, and he was nosing around in the kitchen when I last saw him.  He told me conflict makes him hungry, and he was halfway through the sugar bowl.”

“The fact that Asfaloth has this other form where he can speak to us makes me rethink every time the two of us would have a romp in the stables late at night to get away from the children,” admitted Elrond.

“I already apologized to him for all those nights, and his reply was to thank us, because he apparently modeled some of his techniques after you.”  Celebrían delighted in the wide-eyed look her husband gave her. “Yes, I made that same face when he told me.”

“I am terrible at flirting,” Elrond openly admitted with a lopsided grin.

“Uhm...yes, you are,” Celebrían agreed, and they both laughed over the ridiculousness of the entire situation.  “So, we have Asfaloth--oh, you need a scepter or something,” she said after tying a scarf around his waist.

“Do they have a broom closet somewhere?” asked Elrond.

“They must,” Celebrían reasoned, and the pair left the room, walking down the hallway, only to encounter Asfaloth and Glorfindel in the sitting room.  Asfaloth had a bowl of apples in his lap, while Glorfindel sat at an overly texturized canvas. He had been building layers upon layers of paint, some of it not drying fully before more paint was applied, so that they colors smeared together.  There were no brushes to be seen; he worked exclusively with his palette knives and his bare hands, which were covered past his wrists in reds, blacks, grey-greens, and browns. Asfaloth gave a wave in greeting; Glorfindel only looked over his shoulder, and then back to his canvas.

A moment later, Glorfindel turned his head again.  “What is...are those the curtains?”

“This is the High King of the Noldor,” Celebrían said.  Asfaloth clapped his hands together, an apple held between his teeth.  “We are looking for members of his court to accompany him. He must speak with one of his unruly subjects.”

“Fingon?  Is it Fingon?  I bet you mean Fingon,” Asfaloth said, though the words were difficult to discern with the apple in his mouth.  “Can I come? I can be a courtier!” 

Elrond nodded, and then looked at Glorfindel.  “What do you think? Does this cape make me look fat?”  He turned slightly to the side and then back again.

Glorfindel smiled a little and picked up a rag from his workstation.  “The cape is perfect.” He wiped as much of the paint from himself as he could before he approached and took to one knee in front of Elrond.  “Always, I vowed to serve you and your family in whatever way I could.”

“One final time in my service, then.  Arise, Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower--we have a grave mission before us,” said Elrond, speaking with a powerful voice.

\----

Fingon found himself drifting in and out of slumber.  He had remained wrapped around Erestor, but neither of them was having an easy time finding rest.  Neither of them had said a word to the other since Elrond left, and Fingon knew that the pitcher of water and glass remained at the bedside, untouched in spite of Elrond’s directions.  Suddenly, the room flooded with light as the door hit the interior wall. Fingon sat bolt upright in bed, jostling Erestor, as someone announced in a deep voice, “The King!”

It took a moment for Fingon’s eyes to adjust, but what he thought he saw was the rest of the household standing behind their guests, who were...Fingon rubbed his eyes.  Were those the curtains from the guest room, and was that a mop in Elrond’s grasp? 

“Wha’s all this?” asked Erestor, who was also sitting up now.

“His Royal Highness has arrived with his court, Master Erestor. Comport yourself accordingly,” Glorfindel declared imperiously while standing ramrod straight. Even Gildor, who nudged in at the last moment, appeared suitably grave.

Erestor pulled the sheet up a little closer to his chin as Maedhros declared in a clear voice, “His Grand Majesty, High King Elrond, has arrived to make a decree of great import.”  The combination of his booming voice and the way he and Asfaloth stood, both with their arms crossed before them like royal guardians, was admittedly impressive to anyone who saw the display.

Fingon, who had shifted his position in bed slightly further from the door, scanned the group and mumbled, “Either this is a very detailed dream, or I really crossed a line and pissed you all off.”

“Kind of that last part,” Erestor mumbled back, though he was just as surprised as Fingon.

“There will be silence for his Majesty’s decree!” Glorfindel demanded insistently. Elrond punctuated the pronouncement with a well-timed  _ thonk _ of his broom handle against the wooden floor.

Meekly, Fingon folded his hands together.  “Listening,” was all he said in reply.

The makeshift scepter hit the floor again with impatience.  “The High King has found you in violation of care of your fëa and hröa, and guilty of the crime of living your life for the benefit of all others except yourself.  We have no room for lies in this kingdom, and you are capable of the truth in all things. It is decreed that you shall, henceforth, speak only the truth about yourself and your needs.  I am imparting the care of your body to the capable Lord Glorfindel, for he is a skilled healer and can determine when you have pushed yourself beyond a limit. You will heed his directives until he and I have consulted and determined you fit to take on this task yourself.  As for the care of your soul, there are few more knowledgeable than Lord Erestor to accept this task. Speak your mind to him; no one has ability to tend to the trials of the mind you face on their own.”

“So sayeth the King,” added Maedhros in his booming voice.

While the reaction of flight wanted to win out, Fingon looked around at everyone watching for his reaction.  He twisted his fingers, and though the thoughts he had were to use the sharpness of his nails to scratch at his arms until the skin broke open, he held his hands in check and nodded slightly.  “As you wish,” he whispered.

Gildor cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, perhaps you have overlooked your subject Fingon’s bodyguard, if your humble servant may make mention of it.” Strong arms guided Maedhros to stand in front of him, so that Fingon’s view of the redhead whose love had framed much of his life was unimpeded.

Elrond glanced over, his look stern for a moment before he dropped the facade momentarily.  “He knows what he has to do. Besides, have you ever tried to tell your father to do something?  Parents just do what they want anyhow.” Elrond cleared his throat and whapped the wooden staff on the ground.  “As one would expect, it is the duty of a bodyguard to guard the body of whomever they are responsible for. I believe we can expand that definition to include body and soul, in such times that Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor are not within reach to make decisions, that Prince Maedhros will abide my law and know his duties.”

“So long as your laws do not include Laws and Customs,” said Maedhros in a low voice just to Elrond.

“The Laws and Customs can suck it,” muttered Gildor.

“Gildor…” Erestor said in a low warning tone, his initial reaction being one of shock at such irreverence. All the eyes in the room turned to him. Erestor thought, and thought some more. Thought about the sum of all their lives and the sources of so much pain and injustice. He sighed. “Gildor is right, though I would have expressed it more reservedly.”

“What we must realize is that the Laws and Customs are guidelines from an ancient time,” Elrond said sagely.  “I am not sure I would suggest they ‘suck it’ as Lord Gildor so eloquently put it, but perhaps they have earned a well-deserved retirement from our lives.”

“Unlike your decrees.  Which are law,” Celebrían said, patting her husband’s arm.

“True,” he answered.

“Yes. True,” Glorfindel emphasized with crossed (and paint-smeared) arms.

Erestor’s eyebrow raised, feeling as though he had missed quite a number of small developments, but declined to ask. Feeling somewhat refreshed after his nap, he stretched and sat up more. Then he saw the untouched water. “Someone should be thirsty,” he said cautiously, knowing that Fingon probably felt quite put upon already.

It only took a moment for Fingon to figure out he was the one Erestor was referring to.  He pushed back the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed to sit up properly, but did not dare place his feet on the floor.  He carefully poured water from the pitcher into the glass beside it. His hands trembled a little, so he took up the glass with both of them and drank about a third of it.  With his back to them, he studied the curtains in the room and determined that yes, that was exactly what Elrond was wearing. “Someone is also hungry,” he said before he drank again.

“On it,” Gildor said, waving a finger in the air. He vanished out the door.

Glorfindel frowned that Gildor had stepped out of character but, oh well. “I request His Majesty’s permission to aid Lord Gildor in the preparation of nourishment,” the blond said to Elrond, ignoring that Celebrían was over in the corner smothering her smile.

“Granted,” Elrond said firmly.  He looked up at Maedhros, also breaking character to say, “I could get used to this.”

_ So could I,  _ thought Fingon as he continued to drink his water.


	24. Day 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a smattering of Bingo prompts in this chapter from B2MEM 2019, but I'm impatient and will go through the cards at a later date to list them. Not now. For now, enjoy this next-to-last chapter!

###  Late Morning - Day 24

Dreams were strange for Fingon, and continued well into the morning, with so many lucid elements and vibrant events, that when he woke, he had to try to recall what reality he was in.  As he stretched, he heard bells, and looked around for Asfaloth. No one was there. The bells jingled again, and as he looked up, he saw that they were above the headboard. He extended his arm even though he could not quite reach them, and saw a piece of thick ribbon was around his wrist.  While tracing back the end of it up the headboard, the door opened, and Gildor peeked his head in. “Good morning,” said Gildor as he entered and shut the door. He began to walk around the room, pulling back curtains and opening the windows.

Fingon, looked at Gildor, then up at the bells, and back again. “Someone did not trust me to stay in bed,” he accused as he untied the ribbon from his wrist.

“No--we just wanted you to have enough time to rest peacefully,” said Gildor.  “To bring you up to date, Erestor left this morning to tend to the library. Glorfindel is being artful, Elrond will be in later to check on your progress, and I am here because while you have a bodyguard, and a personal healer, and a soul soother, we did not address having someone see to your moods and mind.”

“Ah.  And you have been appointed,” said Fingon.

“Self-appointed,” Gildor said.  “Now, Glorfindel is going to bring some food, but you should have some water to help you stay hydrated.”

“Just as soon as I get rid of what I had last night.”  Fingon stood up, used the now empty chamber pot, and crawled back into bed after drinking half a glass of water.

“Good boy, sweetie,” Gildor praised, pulling up a chair and seating himself facing the chair back. “I am also pretty decent at light massages, cheerful antics and stories about Mae Mae, but you already knew that. May I ask how you feel today? Up here?” He tapped the side of his head. His usual excessive bounciness was curbed, his voice modulated and thoughtful.

“Still waking up,” answered Fingon.  “I cannot be more insightful than that yet.”

“Understandable. Did you sleep well?”

“My dreams were strange,” answered Fingon.  “And no, I do not recall specifics; already, they are fading.”

“Do you often dream, and recall them?”

Fingon stretched out an arm to retrieve the glass of water.  “I do not think I sleep long enough to dream most of the time.  When I do sleep like this, yes, I dream, but...I recall feelings and random bits, usually not the full dreams.”

“What are those feelings like?” Gildor asked, interested.

“It varies.”  Fingon sipped the water.  “Last night...sorry, it is all so fleeting.  I do not mean to be unhelpful. I know you are trying to help… ‘fix’ me.”

“Sweetheart, it does not work like that. The help I give is to aid you to better understand yourself. Be relieved of such things as misconceptions that have weighed down your spirit. Help you find the self-acceptance you and everyone who walks this world deserves. That sort of thing.”

After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Fingon set the glass back on the table.  “And I assume this is another of King Elrond’s conditions.”

“It should be one of Fingon’s conditions,” Gildor prodded gently. “You are loved by many who pray you will love yourself as they do. Do you resent that?”

“No,” answered Fingon.  “I just think...I have a lot of past,” he said.  “A lot to sort through, and just pushing forward has been how I have survived most things in life.”

“Do you think we could start at the beginning, then? One way to think of it is as if your life is a box. You have added many things to the box in that long past, and some of the things closest to the bottom have become forgotten. But all the things in the box make you who you are, so if we can we want to spread out a very large cloth, and take all of the items out and place them where we can see them. Later on we will see if we can take a closer look at them, or maybe organize them to help the contents make more sense.”

Fingon considered this.  “I have never heard that approach before, but I am willing to try.”

Gildor smiled winningly. “I have just the place I would like to start.” Just then the door moved open. “Oh! Here is Glorfindel with your yummy breakfast. Oooh look, I am not sure which is more sumptuous, the food or your golden beauty that bears it on his manly arms.”

“I see Gildor is as silken-tongued as always,” Glorfindel smiled. “How is my beloved husband this morning?” he asked brightly, genuinely glad to see Fingon awake.

“Happy to see you,” Fingon replied. “Not that seeing Gildor did not make me happy--but--you know…”  Fingon sighed and raised his arms to Glorfindel. “I want to come to you and give you a hug, but I have to hope you will come here and indulge me.  I have been ordered to stay in bed.” 

“Yes you have,” Glorfindel agreed, handing the tray to Gildor so that he could embrace Fingon. “Because you need it, and we love you.” He allowed Fingon to pull him close, returning the hold, and nestling into his arms for quite awhile. “If you behave, Love, I shall spend part of the day with you, returning when I can so that you are not lonely. Maybe I can even join your conversation with Gildor, if you will allow it?”

“Maybe you can pull things out of my box.  It will be difficult to do so, confined to bed,” reasoned Fingon.  “By now, I have a pretty big box.”

“Oh, I am not worried, sweetcakes,” Glorfindel said, kissing him on the lips before turning to bring the tray of food. “I have really long arms. Now look at this delicious puree Celebrían made for you. Three different kinds of fruits, steamed and blended. And that is just for starters.” The bowl in question was nudged toward Fingon, who could see that it contained attractive colored swirls in pink, blue and yellow.

Fingon looked into the bowl and dipped a finger into it to taste.  “Reminds me of food for babies. Then again, with how I have been acting, it is probably appropriate.”

“She said you would say that,” Glorfindel said, crestfallen. “I came to your defense. She tried really hard to make it look appetizing because she knows sometimes you struggle to eat.”

“Ironic.  For the first time in a long while, I have an appetite.  I want to eat. I think those fake lembas things must have stifled my desire for food.  And now that I want to, I get this.” He lifted a spoonful above the bowl and tipped it to plop back in.  Then he laughed. “Unicorn vomit,” he said as he scooped up a spoonful. “It could have been pea green, and I likely would still have eaten it so long as it did not taste like actual vomit.”  He stuck it into his mouth and swallowed.

Glorfindel looked helplessly at Gildor, more than a little taken aback at what he was finding with Fingon. Gildor conveyed reassurance with his eyes, and a serenity that Glorfindel believed he was being asked to imitate. Nodding just slightly, Glorfindel arranged his features into a smile and turned back to his lover. “Hopefully it rates far above that?” What he was not about to let on is that Erestor had helped Celebrían prepare it. Personally, he had thought it quite above average; Celebrían had explained to Erestor the principles behind steaming and then how to use a food sieve.

“It tastes fine.”  Fingon looked up. “I do not mean to be negative.  I thought it was funny. See? It is better if I just stay boring, stoic, serious, unsmiling Fingon.”  He ate the contents of the bowl quickly, set it back on the tray, and settled down on his back in the bed.  “Please pass my thanks along to Celebrian.”

“I will,” Glorfindel assured him. “Does this mean you would eat more?”

“I will eat whatever you put in front of me so that I can get out of this bed and this room faster.  I have work to get back to; I have a library to run. Tell me what I have to do; I will do it.”

Maedhros entered the room now, having heard the last exchange.

“I will, uh, go find more food,” Glorfindel said, completely unprepared for this version of his husband. He took the tray. “Be back shortly.” With an expression of general sadness seen only by Maedhros, Glorfindel exited under Maedhros’ outstretched arm that waited to close the door behind him.

“Good morning, Finya,” he said with a pleasant voice.

Fingon did not sit back up.  “Are you all out there in a line, waiting to come in and get visual confirmation that I did not run away?”  He sighed and turned his head. “Sorry. Morning. Not sure about the good part yet.”

“Apology accepted. I heard what you said to Glorfindel. He will not tell you this so I will, sweetheart. Words like that are heartbreaking to him. He only wants to love you and all he is hearing right now is that this is a big joke to you and that your job is more important. I know you are having a hard time, too. Some of why your moods are swinging so much is because you are coming off of what that stuff was doing to your body. Please try, though, for his sake.”

Gildor glanced up at his lover and smiled a tiny smile. He was not about to bring that up for fear of shutting Fingon down, but leave it to Mae Mae to go there straight away.

Fingon stared at the ceiling.  “This is all just going to go in circles.  Tell me what to say; tell me what to do; tell me how to act.  The library is important because it supports our family, so, yes, the job is important, but important because everyone here is more important to me, and that is why the library has to be important.  It would be whatever my job is. It just happens to be a library. Just…” Fingon covered his hands over his face. “Just tell me what to do. Tell me how you all want me to be. I will mold myself to your desires and strive not to cause anyone discomfort in any way.  I am too tired for it anymore.”

“I have heard of this more than once since I have been here, since nosy Gildor pays attention to everything,” Gildor said quietly. “This is one of the manifestations of exactly what you said--not circles, but a cycle. You vacillate between this helpless apathy and tremendous self assurance, because you are responding to something far deeper. In other words, you spend most of your time with a veneer of competence and confidence, but when you come into conflict with other people concerning behavior they find unacceptable, you attempt to throw the responsibility for yourself onto others. You are not happy with yourself, Fingon. You want to be but you cannot see how, and that is where we need to begin. We begin with how it got this way. Are my words making any sense to you?”

Lowering, his hands, Fingon’s words came out louder than intended.  “I am not blaming them, though! I am taking responsibility for the welfare of my family, because someone has to!  I will not see us starve or freeze or go without! I--” And then he grew silent.

“What just happened, sweetheart? Can you tell us why you stopped talking?” Gildor asked. Maedhros pulled up a chair closer than Gildor’s and offered Fingon his hand to hold.

Fingon clutched the blankets as he rolled onto his side.  “I tried, and I failed everyone. I never meant to be a murderer, but I am!  I never wanted to send Ereinion away, but I did. But I can take care of people...I can...I am trying…”  He began to sob, and embraced the pillow, burying his face into it.

Maedhros eased onto the bed to gather Fingon into his arms, cradling him, and waited for the crying to subside.

Gildor patiently kept quiet until Fingon’s breathing eased, and Maedhros gave a subtle nod to continue. “That was very honest of you, love. And this is a thing we are taking out of the box. The biggest items are all going to have a common thread, honey. They will be things about which--rightly or wrongly or any other way--you feel shame. Also, sweetheart, we are going to learn to speak about things without judgement. Long ago, you committed some acts of murder. That was very bad, but I also know that you were not the only one. You tried to atone, even though we all know that it is not possible to make a thing as though it never happened. Did I just say anything that was incorrect?”

At the mention of the word ‘murder’, Fingon whimpered.  When Gildor finished, he nodded. “I mean, no. I mean...yes, that is all true.”  He sniffled.

“Would you tell me what you believe about forgiveness? I know you are a spiritual man and I would like to know how you view whether sins can be forgiven and what is involved in that,” Gildor asked, inscribing as he listened into the same book he had kept with him the last time he had spoken to Fingon on such matters of the mind.  Maedhros continued to hold Fingon, stroking his skin here or there to soothe him.

Fingon took a few deep breaths before he spoke.  “My grandfather taught me that forgiveness comes from within and from Eru.  My father emphasized that forgiveness must come from those who were wronged.  I have tried to reconcile both of those things in some way, but when you ask what I believe, I do not know whether to ask forgiveness of Eru or those I have wronged, and so I ask them both.”

“Do you believe you were forgiven for your crimes, or do you believe the sin hangs over you yet?” Gildor asked, doing his best to hide the discomfort he inwardly felt from these questions he believed were necessary to pose.

It felt harder to breath, and Fingon took in more air between sentences.  “I only received forgiveness from one family I affected. As for Eru, I cannot begin to fathom his thoughts in all this.  Even if everyone else forgives me, it would not matter. I can never forgive myself.”

“Thank you, Fingon,” Gildor said, meeting his eyes. “Can you tell me more about that? Why you will not forgive yourself?”

Fingon stared at Gildor for some minutes.  Finally, he said, “I killed people, Gildor.  Good people. People who were just protecting the places they worked and lived.  I took life from them. I took them from their families. I killed someone whose child was not even born yet,” he shared, tears falling free.  “He never got to see his child born. He never got to hold them. I took that from him. I took that from their whole family. What right have I to be forgiven for that?”

“I am not a spiritual advisor; the questions are to help me understand your belief system so I would not be qualified to answer that. I thought that people believed Eru was the one who decided such matters, so thank you for clarifying. It is very easy for me to get these kinds of things wrong. No Eru. The person decides. Got it.” His hand moved very quickly across the page, scribbling before Gildor looked up again. 

“That was not what I--nevermind,” grumbled Fingon.  “Write whatever you want. This is all hopeless anyway.  Eventually you will all understand that and just tell me what you want to hear so that we stop wasting time on me.”

Maedhros and Gildor exchanged a look.   _ I am going to try my best, Mae Mae, but I am not completely certain he will accept help. _

_ I know you will try your best.  At least now you see firsthand what I dealt with all those years.  And this is a good day,  _ shared Maedhros sadly.

“You mentioned that your father taught you as a youth. I did not know you for I am younger, but I would like to ask you now how you felt about your father when you were a very young elfling. Say, under fifteen years of age. Then I would like to know about your mother. Maybe start with the time when it was just you and your parents, for I know you are the oldest.” Gildor’s visage was one of intense focus and interest. 

Maedhros listened, not fully certain what his mate was seeking to accomplish considering Fingon’s apparent refusal to receive help in this matter, but finding the questions interesting.

“Not my father.  My grandfather. My grandparents.  My parents worked a lot when I was a child; I spent a lot of time with my grandparents.  I felt…” Fingon closed his eyes and wiped moisture from his cheeks. “Uhm...they seemed fine.  My parents, that is.”

“How did you feel about your parents working so much?” Gildor probed.

“They did what they had to.”  Fingon half shrugged the arm not pressed against the mattress.  “We were not rich, like the rest of my uncles and aunts. We had to work hard for what we had.  We had a nice house and we never went hungry, but it meant long hours for them sometimes.”

“Did you feel loved, by both your grandparents and parents?”

Fingon chewed at his bottom lip.  “Mostly.” He blinked a few times.  There was hesitation. Then he said: “I was an accident.”

“Do you mean that your parents did not want you but had to make the best of it? Or something different?” Gildor asked, not wishing to put words into Fingon’s mouth but also seeing that he struggled to give words to his feelings.

“My parents wanted to wait until they were financially stable before having children.  My grandfather was pressuring my father in the beginning, so they tried a lot and nothing happened.  Then the business started to fail, so they decided to wait. In the midst of that, my mother became pregnant.”  Fingon grew uneasy and pressed closer to Maedhros. “I found out, when I was young, but after Turgon was born, that my grandmother had suggested to my mother that there were healers who could stop a pregnancy, and she advised her to consider it.  My grandmother even arranged to have someone come to the house to assess my mother for the procedure. My father was furious; obviously, that did not happen, though my grandmother did badger my mother about the name she originally had for me. She told her it sounded like the name of a servant, and hounded her until she came up with something else.  Of course, to my face, my grandmother acts as if I am one of her favorites.”

“How does knowing that make you feel?” Gildor queried. 

“They do not know I know.  I was eavesdropping late one night on conversations between adults.”

“Sweetheart, that does not tell me how you feel,” Gildor reminded very gently. “I sense resistance to the questions I ask about how your realities affected your emotions.”

“I feel...like a mistake.”  Fingon squeezed his eyes shut.  A tear rolled down his cheek. “I feel like I was treated differently because of guilt.  Because they entertained the idea of getting rid of me. I look around, and I think, Glorfindel and Erestor would have been fine--they were fine for a long time, without me.  The kinslaying. I made that successful. I have studied that whole mess. The Teleri would have won, except that I showed up with reinforcements, and we rushed in without thought.  I look at all of these things, and I think, if I was not there, things would be better or easier. I feel distanced. There are times I used to find out that family things happened without me, and I only learned of them after the fact from things Aredhel would say.  I try to pretend I do not care, but it still hurts.”

“Thank you for all that you shared. Your feelings are very valid; you have every right to feel hurt by those kinds of occurrences within your family. But I also want to point out one thing. When you have these thoughts in which you say that matters would be better off without you, someone who wanted to argue with you would have to ‘prove’ that you are wrong. Those are what we call ‘unwinnable arguments’ because there is no means by which to supply the proof you would demand. However the reverse is also true...your assertions are equally unprovable because you cannot prove that it would indeed be the case, except by means of logical fallacies. But I think that is enough for just now, we can take a break since I believe a little more food is on its way up here.”

“I cannot eat right now,” Fingon argued.  “I know I am supposed to do these things because it is going to make me better faster, but...I feel like I want to throw up right now as it is.  I also do not know how I am supposed to ‘take a break’. Do you know how many thoughts are swimming around my head right now?” Fingon closed his eyes.  “So much, it makes me dizzy. You ask me to open up, and then like everyone else, as soon as things become uncomfortable--bam! You slam the door shut. You leave me alone.”

“Alright, sweetheart. No one is going to leave you.  I did not want to push if you needed a break. Whatever you most need. I want you to have something for the nausea, because you should not be losing what you ate. Do you feel like you want to get the thoughts out of your head and into speech? I am very willing to listen to you. That is why I am here, to meet all of your little swimmers.” 

Maedhros’ eyebrows shot up. “Little swimmers?” 

“Yes, darling. His thoughts, all those swimming...oh. Uhm, alright, that sounded fine before I said it. For once my mind was not on that, Mae Mae. This is important.”

“I know. I just had to say it. I will behave, I promise.” Leaning down, he kissed Fingon’s cheek tenderly. “I know it is hard to say all these things but you need this, Finya. Telling these things is draining the poison from a wound.”

“I would welcome something for the nausea.  I...I honestly do not want to talk to you about my problems, but I am really trying hard, though I cannot guarantee...well, I am being honest,” said Fingon  “That is the part that is most important, right?”

“Yes. Yes it is, so first things first. Nausea. Pardon me while I obtain something for that.” Gildor rose and departed to confer with Elrond, leaving the pair alone.

After a moment, Fingon ran a finger along Maedhros’ arm.  “I never meant for you to hear any of that.”

“And that is part of the problem, sweet cheeks,” Maedhros said. “I want to hear not just any of it, I want to hear all of it. Because my life will not be better without you. I very much want my life with you. You are so stuck with me, lover. I will never let you go again, so get used to it.”

Fingon turned so that he could snuggle closer.  “I feel safe with you. I can actually fall asleep without being on guard.  Your voice...I have a thing for men with deep voices. You...Erestor...I like to hear the rumbling when you talk.”

“I am here, Finya.” Right now encouragement was best, so he would give it. “Here and you can listen to me talk all you want. I will even turn into Gildor if you want, and not stop talking.” It disturbed Maedhros, that Glorfindel had received no mention in Fingon’s affection just now, but perhaps it was best not to overanalyze today’s words. Who even knew what those damned poison squares he had eaten for so long were contributing to the conversation.

“I think I know what I have been doing wrong with Glorfindel,” Fingon said after a few moments of nuzzling Maedhros.  “I know I slip into this mode of acting like...like I did with the other members of my gymnastics teams. Like a family, but...a family of all men, right?  I can be harsh sometimes; that was how I survived those years, I guess. Glorfindel is more sensitive...or am I wrong about that? I was never good at figuring these things out.”

Blinking, Maedhros wished someone qualified would return to the room. Unused to this, he found Fingon’s words deeply unsettling. Not knowing that Glorfindel was more sensitive? That was tantamount to not realizing that the sun was shining in the sky. He was spared the awkwardness of attempting a response by Gildor returning with Elrond. Instead, his response was reduced to a kiss on Fingon’s brow.

“Nausea relief, coming right up!” Gildor announced with a generally positive air.

Fingon rolled back over again.  “Should I sit up?”

Elrond nodded, and Fingon complied.  “First, I want to check your progress.  Open your mouth, please.” Elrond had his light with him again, and he used it to thoroughly examine the interior.  “I think I might be able to remove the sutures today,” said Elrond as he stepped back. “Your wound healed remarkably well.”

“Does that mean I might be able to go to work this afternoon?”

“NO!” The reply came from Gildor and Elrond at the same time.  Elrond cleared his throat. “Your body has been through a lot. The reason you are home is because you think you can just carry on with your normal day, when you are, for all intents and purposes, recovering from both surgery and an addiction.”

Fingon furrowed his brow.  “An addiction to what?”

“Those things you were eating.  I have been further analyzing them, and I would rather you were drinking or taking the same things that Erestor and Gildor were shoving up their noses.”  Elrond pulled the chair that Gildor had been using closer and said, “The only reason you are still alive right now is all of the rest of your lifestyle decisions.  All of your training and eating habits...and even then, you are very lucky. I do not know where those things are being made, but I will be looking to address that when I get back to the mainland.  For now, we are focusing on you, and your recovery--your overall recovery, and we are not going to rush through this.”

“Is this an intervention?” asked Fingon.

No one said anything, but Gildor’s expression explained it all.

“Here.  Drink this--it tastes bad, so do it quickly, but it will calm your stomach.  Then, water.” Elrond oversaw Fingon’s dosage, and looked at the water pitcher.  “I will have another pitcher brought up. You need to increase your water intake.  It will help flush out the poisons.”

“Poisons?” questioned Fingon.

“Several of the things in those...supplements you were taking, I have seen used in...so many things that are not food.  We can discuss that more at a later time. I am glad to see that your wound is healing well; I will be back later about the sutures.”  Elrond left after giving Gildor an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

“Do you understand now, why the level of concern for you is as high as it is, Fingon?” Gildor asked, his tone still calm. “All those things you said about your employment are true, and matter not a whit if you die. Who will support your family if you are gone? This is serious. Or have you ever known Elrond to behave in this manner because he needs an amusement?”

Fingon solemnly drank some water and then crawled into bed again.

Maedhros broke the silence. “Sweetie, I know you are trying to help but I am not sure that being so blunt with him is what he needs at this exact moment.”

Gildor nodded, blowing his cheeks out. “Elrond is right. This is going to be harder for me, because I am involved. Fingon, I apologize for my words, which were insensitive. The truth is I am afraid for your health, having known Elrond for a very long time. I am afraid for all of us, because we love you. I love you. Maybe not like Mae Mae and your husbands, but I do.” He buried his face in his hands. “Sorry.”

Fingon reached his hand out and touched Gildor’s knee.  “I love you, too.”

Gildor took the extended hand, and kissed it, then held it against his cheek for awhile while he processed his thoughts. “I want us to keep talking. Maybe I should be quiet, and let you and Mae Mae decide what to discuss. You know, deep inside, what things hurt you. Haunt you. What things are toward the bottom of the box.  If I have questions about things I don’t understand then I can ask them. Do you...would you be agreeable to that?”

“I can try,” said Fingon.  “I am not sure how well I will do, though--I would never have said the things I did earlier without prodding and questioning.  I buried some of those thoughts pretty deep. I mean...I try not to think about the fact that there was an actual, logical discussion at one point between my parents and grandparents about me being aborted.  I mean, what would that have even meant? Would I have never existed? Would I have been someone else’s child? And then it just knots me up inside, so I try not to dwell on it. Try being the key word. Sometimes it surfaces when I least expect it to and I have a panic attack out of the blue.”

“That is alright, sweetheart.  We all have fears and uncertainties, and yours are valid.” Gildor kissed his hand again before releasing it. “Mae Mae is here to help you; I know you find comfort in his strength and I want that for you. Then maybe Gildor shall prod a little.”  Gildor smiled a tiny bit, the words being self-deprecating. “There is a saying, within my discipline. ‘What we resist, persists.’ Among healers of the mind this is accepted as something of a universal truth. Do you...does it make...shit. I do not want to sound condescending and it is hard to know how best to communicate at times.”

“I think I know,” Maedhros offered. “Gildor means, he wants to know if you understand those words without coming off like an asshole for asking.”

“I really love you, Mae Mae,” Gildor smiled, nodding.

“Honestly, I think I am a little confused, but I do not think Gildor sounds like an asshole.”  Fingon reached out to squeeze Gildor’s knee. “Most of my life, any sort of authority figure either told me to suck it up or grow up or something like that when dealing with a lot of what was going on in my head.  Of course, it probably never helped that I avoided telling them about certain things...I think what you mean is, the more I keep this to myself, the more it affects me negatively. Is that close?”

“Mostly, yes. It also basically just will never go away. Do you know that it was wrong of those figures to tell you to grow up or suck it up, and that while they may have not meant to harm you in doing so, they did? No child can thrive in an environment in which they are shut down like that.”

“I think that could be part of why I take on so many responsibilities.  Here I am, essentially an old man, and I am still trying to ‘prove’ I am an adult.”

“That is good awareness, sweetie,” Gildor nodded.

Maedhros cleared his throat and held Fingon a little more snugly. “Finya, after you had your exam, with great reluctance Erestor told us of a recurring memory you were having. Your father catching you wearing a corset you liked, and then him turning away from you emotionally. While it broke my heart to hear of it, I think it is very important, for it is another way in which you were deeply wronged. Do you think we can talk about how you were made to feel shame for something beautiful that to us is perfectly ordinary?”

Fingon paled, and he drew his hand back from Gildor.  For a few moments he chewed on one of his fingers. “What else did Erestor find out?” he asked quietly.

“That you struggle with your gender expression, punishing yourself for enjoying some attributes that would be culturally--and wrongly--defined as feminine, and that you have a certain level of wishing you had Glorfindel’s greater ease with that aspect,” Gildor answered honestly. “That your physical masculine form creates a dissonance for you, so you act out to try to be what you believe you are supposed to be--masculine.”

“There was also that your pursuit of gymnastics gave you an approval you could not find elsewhere. Erestor was visibly sick with worry about revealing this to us, but truly believed the greater harm was in keeping this to himself. Those of us who know are under a vow of confidentiality, regarding these matters. We mean to help you, Finya, because that you have suffered with all this is so very wrong,” Maedhros added in the softest tones he could manage.

After listening to the revelation, Fingon pulled the blankets closer and held onto them tightly.  He stared off at a wall instead of making eye contact, and though his lips were slightly parted, there seemed no words that Fingon planned to express.  He rubbed his nose, and still said nothing.

Gildor made eye contact with Maedhros, who nodded and spoke. “I do not believe your father meant to be cruel to you. That was really something that my father had the greater talent for, not yours. Yours did not know what to do, or say, or how to react. So he chose to respond by not responding, by walling himself off from something that the cultural norms at the time told him were at best an aberration. That was wrong of him. The greatest role of a father is to inform his children that they as children of Eru are loved in whatever form they exist, That he could not see his way forward does not excuse Fingolfin’s dereliction of that duty. You were abandoned, Finya, and it hurt. It would hurt anyone, a deep cut that still has not healed.”

Gildor followed Maedhros’ words. “You were a child. A child with no possible ability to navigate this on your own. I would go so far as to assert that this left you wide open to the abuse you would later suffer, Fingon, because it left you doing something normal to any child-- seeking the approval your own father withheld from you. None of the fault was yours. None. You. Were. A. Child.”

Fingon continued to listen and attempted to sort out his emotions.  Still unsure of what to say, he finally looked at Gildor for guidance.  “So...now what do I do?”

“You open your heart and mind to a new reality. That there is no shame because there is no fault. When someone has believed something that is untrue, the acceptance in here,” he said as he placed his hand over his chest, “does not come overnight. You will need time, you will need reminding. You may need to hear it more than once, because you have gone your entire life taking that fault, that shame, wrongly upon yourself. It is almost universally common in circumstances of a child’s emotional abandonment that they blame themselves for the shortcomings that really belong to the adults that were charged with their care and love. Fingon, do you know why a child is different than an adult, and I do not mean height or weight?”

“Well...they need to be cared for.  They are growing and developing. I tried, with the time I had with my children, I really tried to do the best not to force ideas on them.  At the same time, there were things I knew I had to teach them, such as, the fireplace is hot so do not stick your hand in there, and bees sting so do not grab them off of flowers.  Some children will put anything into their mouths. Including bees. Or am I missing the mark?” he asked, somewhat relieved to answer a question that was not related to his own life.

“Yes and no. It has to do with the development of the brain as an organ. We do not expect an elfling to carry the physical loads of an adult because we can see that their skeletons are not capable of doing so. Their body is immature. Undeveloped. But what it is so easy to forget is that the mind is housed in a physical organ. A physical organ that needs years to grow and function in the manner in which Eru intended. Just as physical neglect damages the growth of a child’s body, mental and emotional neglect damages the growth of this organ in here.”  Gildor tapped at his head. “That is why we say that children are incapable in this regard, Fingon. They cannot do otherwise than the instinct of their developmental stage impels them to. I know that you will resist believing my words, so I am explaining to you the science of why it is the truth.”

“I never said I did not believe you,” Fingon replied, a little more defensively than intended.  He took a deep breath. “Gildor, unlike the rest of you, I went without a typical, formal education.  Everything I learned when I was growing up was first from my grandparents, and then from my parents in-between their work and my gymnastics, and then when I joined a team that traveled, there was little importance placed on academics.  There are times I feel like an intellectual idiot. So it is not that I do not believe you; it is that I am the stereotype of an athlete. I have tried to acquire the knowledge I lack, but sometimes, despite my profession, I do not know where to look.  Your father and Erestor are truly scholars; I feel sometimes as if I learned the trade simply because I had the opportunity and no other prospects. All those gyms care about is winning and trophies and accolades. None of them prepare those of us who dedicate our formative years to them to go out into the world and be successful outside of an arena.”

With a groan, Gildor nodded. “Again, I apologize to you. I did not mean that I expected disbelief because of your education, I meant that I know you like to beat yourself up over your past mistakes. My poorly chosen words were in the hopes that you would be able to let go of any belief that in any reality what happened to you as a youth was your fault. Mae Mae knows that I can fit entire shoes into my mouth.”

“Among other things,” Maedhros said with an extremely neutral voice but a wolfish grin meant for Gildor’s eyes only.

“Uh huh. For what it is worth, Fingon, I regard you as very intelligent and learned and I swear to you I am not making that up. There are many kinds of knowledge. I...you were once my King and in my eyes you deserved my fealty both as a person and as my ruler. I really am sorry.”

Fingon shook it off and lifted his hand up again in Gildor’s direction.  “I am sure this is not at all professional, but do you want to join us in here?”

“It really is not at all professional and may I be pardoned but yes,” all tumbled out in a rush. He did not even inquire about clothing removal in his haste to simply join the snuggle pile. “This is unprofessionally much nicer,” Gildor commented once he had arranged himself in the tangle of limbs.

Fingon kissed Gildor’s cheek.  “Thank you. I wanted to ask earlier, but I was afraid.  I hope this is not going to get you in trouble with Elrond.”

“Trouble? No. But it is why he was right to suggest involving a neutral party. Someone not connected to this household. I do not want my inability to be purely objective to in any way hinder you, though I still believe I can be helpful in many aspects. Most patients in this kind of care do not live with their providers.” Gildor sighed. “This is really going to play hell with my charting of my notes. Oh well.”

“I do not know if I could talk to someone I do not trust about all of this,” Fingon said quietly.  “Certainly, I would not want to tell them about my family, and anything about me is right out, so that leaves...my job.  Maybe. No, because Erestor is there...and...maybe this can work,” he said hopefully. “I know it is not conventional, but maybe just talking to you?”

“Neither Elrond or I can force you to do anything against your will. I want you to remember, that professional healers are under an oath of confidentiality. Which is another reason what that Faelion prick did by repeating personal confidences is beyond the pale. A real healer would never divulge these matters--which are not unique to you, Fingon. Or your family. Elrond will encourage you to seek out someone with greater objectivity. All that being said, I am here for you, now and into our future together. I promise you I will do my best, and that may include admitting when I have made a mistake or said something that a different healer might not. I want to see your pain eased. No one deserves to live with anguish that has become normalized.”

Fingon gnawed at one of his fingers again.  “Maybe in the future,” he said. “What Faelion did...is probably still doing...once the words come out of my mouth, I cannot take them back, and I need to know what I am saying is secure.”

“I understand, sweetheart. Which is why I am not going to say more about it, and leave that part to Elrond. I would trust him with my anything.” Gildor leaned up to kiss Fingon’s cheek. “Of all five of us I was blessed beyond imagination just because I had a father who did all the things a father ought to do. That does not sound like it should be so much but it was the First Age, and everything was…you know. What happened to you was as damaging as what happened to Erestor and Glorfindel, and even Mae Mae. It is only that the damage was different. You will not face your demons alone any longer, Fingon. We will not allow it.”

“Thank you,” Fingon said quietly.

Silence endured for a time, during which Gildor conversed in thought with Maedhros, weighing possibilities.  _ He is actually talking. Answering the questions. You may not know how rare this opportunity is,  _ Maedhros emphasized.

Gildor elected to go--carefully--for what he guessed the greatest difficulty might be. “Fingon? I want to know about the corset. Glorfindel would dress up for me sometimes, in beautiful items. He still does, for all I know. Would you tell me what it would have been for you if it all had not gone wrong?”

The taste of blood on Fingon’s tongue made him realize he had broken the skin of his finger.  He gripped his self-inflicted injury with his other hand. “You mean, would I have continued? Because I...explored that again, for a while, at the theatre, on my own.  Where it was safe.”

“Yes. I am the last man who could find anyone else’s fantasies to be strange, Fingon. I mean, this is me?” Gildor pointed out. “I am concerned because something about this feels ‘unsafe’ to you, if others were to know. But I do not exactly understand what ‘it’ even is.”

“Because...others might think it wrong.”  Fingon frowned. “Because I thought it was wrong.”

“Does it involve a child?” Gildor asked. 

“No…”

“Sexual relations with an animal?”

“Heavens, no!”

“An unconsented act with another?”

“No!”

“Then it is not wrong,” Maedhros said firmly. “You do not have to be afraid, Finya. Whatever this is, I promise you it is not wrong. And if I am wrong I will...I am not wrong,” he concluded with finality, shaking his head.

“You know some of it, Maitimo,” muttered Fingon.  “The cosmetics and clothing and...some of the thoughts I have.  At the same time, I confuse myself sometimes. And because those appearances make people think a certain thing, then I overemphasize the masculinity I do hold onto.”

“You enjoy a fusion of genders and cultures and this is...wrong?” Gildor asked with caution. “I feel I am not grasping what is meant.”

“Princes are not supposed to want to be princesses,” Fingon said, and it sounded like he was quoting something.

Gildor blinked. “I am so lost right now, and fearful that you will take my confusion as criticism. I am not perceiving what anything about your appreciation for cosmetics and clothing has to do with anything about anything. Mae Mae? Can you help here at all?”

“It needs to come from Fingon, but my educated guess is that Fingolfin or...someone...told him that it is wrong to want to look other than rigorously masculine. Which is horseshit, but given some of the things my family said back then about me when I would do similar, I am probably not far from the mark.”

“I got it from everyone.  Well, not my father, my father said nothing...my mother advised me not to do things in public.  My grandmothers both made comments. Grandmother Indis told me I was ‘asking for trouble’. Grandmother Anrissë yanked me into her bedroom when my family and I went to visit one day, forcibly wiped off all of the cosmetics I had been wearing, and then--”  Fingon bit his lip. “Sorry. One of those things for your box. I need a moment.”

“That is fine, Finya,” Maedhros murmured, holding Fingon tightly and making eye contact with Gildor.   _ Is it wrong that I want to go to the mainland and forcefully slap much of our extended family? All this time, and he has lived in misery truly believing he is the one with the problem?? _

_ I know, Mae Mae. The problem is much bigger than Fingon, but we have to start someplace and here is where that is. Right now, appealing though the thought may be, it would not help him.  _

_ Maybe someday? _

_ Mae Mae.... _

Gildor leaned forward to kiss Fingon’s cheek again, stroking it when he was done.

The kiss seemed to bring Fingon out of the terrible reverie of the past.  “My Grandmother Indis was never physical. Certainly, she had a lot to say, and there were times when her words hurt, but...my Grandmother Anrissë was…”  Fingon licked his lips and checked his hand to see that the bleeding had stopped. “Aredhel and I once used henna to just, we were just doodling with it on our hands.  My Grandmother Anrissë came over unexpectedly for a visit and my parents decided to go out that night while my grandmother stayed at the house. She sent Aredhel and Turgon to bed, and she made me boil a pot of water.  Then she made me stick my hands into it and recite certain passages from various religious texts--including Laws and Customs--and when I rushed or missed a word, she made me start over. Then she made me scrub my hands until they were raw from the scrubbing and the burns, and when my parents came home, she told them I had been clumsy in the kitchen.”  He rubbed his cheek against Gildor’s shoulder. “The day at her house was worse. She got a hairbrush and told me to bend over. I refused, so she called in some of her servants, and they held me down while she pulled my trousers down and spanked me with both sides of her hairbrush until it hurt to sit. Then, she shoved me down to the dining room, where the rest of my family was waiting.  She sat me between herself and my mother, and I was so upset I could not eat. I just sat there with my cheeks red and my body aching, and silently cried the entire meal while everyone else just conversed and ate, my grandmother the jolliest of them all. My mother just kept whispering to me to stop being disrespectful and...I refused to go over there again after that. And I was not a child when that happened, which...it was embarrassing.”

“Fuck. Me.” Gildor was rendered speechless after those two words, and Maedhros found he was having to contain his temper.

“Grandmother Anrissë refused to hug me.  She said that she could not condone anyone who lived a life of blasphemy.  She adored Turgon. Maybe that was why Grandmother Indis at least...tried with me.  My grandfathers just seemed to push all of the male-centric things at me. They took me hunting, encouraged me to flirt with girls, gave me beer when I was pretty young...funny how they both kind of used the same techniques,” Fingon mused.

“I think I am the one who might need a moment now,” Gildor mumbled. One glance at Maedhros told him that he, too, had not previously known.

“Finya...why did you not tell your parents of what your grandmother did? Both those instances were brutality by any definition,” Maedhros asked.

“When I was...maybe, seven or eight...maybe not that old, even.  I was very little, Turgon was not yet born, and my parents were catering a wedding.  I think it was for some family on my father’s side; I know that I was not going to be going to be watched by Grandmother Indis because she was going to the wedding.  My Grandmother Anrissë came to our house to watch me. It was uneventful until the last day. I was bored. I went to play in my mother’s closet, and I broke one of her shoes.  I went to ask my Grandmother Anrissë to help me fix it. She spanked me. That was the first time that had happened, because my parents never struck me. I screamed. A lot. And I bit her, at least once.  When my parents came home, I ran to my father, and I went right into it. I told him she punished me and I never wanted to see her again and I hated her, and my father told me to settle down and stop talking to fast, and she was standing right there.  And he asked me what I had done, and I told him about the shoe. Well, I was not supposed to be in their room anyhow, so he went right into ‘What were you told about going in there?’ and ‘When we are not here, your grandmother is in charge’ and never let me tell him what she did, and then told me in the future, I had to listen to her and tattling was not a becoming trait, and I was in the wrong, and I was sent to bed without supper.”  Fingon rolled onto his back. “It was just...when she came to visit, if my parents were not around, she would say things like ‘where is my nasty little grandson’, so you can see how what Grandmother Indis said about me was not quite so bad.”

“Finya, Finya,” Maedhros repeated, allowing Fingon to adjust his position in his arms but not releasing him. “It was all bad. This was wrong. Horrifyingly wrong. I think you have taught yourself to dismiss this into something that is normal or just a little bit unfortunate. It is not. Were this happening today, here on the island, your grandmother would be in chains for what she did. Jailed. Finya, do you see?”

“Here, yes.  On the mainland, things like this still happen. In Middle-earth, they certainly happened.  I am not saying that to justify it; just, that I understand the reality of things.” He reached up and touched Maedhros’ cheek.  “I am glad that your father was protective of you. I know that sounds...strange, but I know, that despite some of the things he did that were certainly not great, he did care very much about you and your brothers.”

“Certainly not great,” Maedhros echoed, before checking any further words. He kissed Fingon’s cheek. 

“Just what I have heard in this short time has my head almost reeling from the abuse you endured. Emotional. Mental. Physical. Sexual. Fingon, you never had a chance, and that you have come through to us in any manifestation of goodness is nothing less than a miracle. It is a testament to your heart and your spirit, not to have been turned into a monster by all of this. I know now what your first task is--the unlearning of all this horrid crap that was foisted on you. To know in your heart of hearts that everything you were ever told by these hypocritical, intolerant and bigoted people was from the depths of falsehood. They tried to beat it out of you as surely as that clinic tried to beat it out of Erestor, and they failed. But they left you torn and bleeding, and that is what must stop.” Gildor kissed Fingon full on the lips, with all the sincerity and love he was capable of offering. “You were always beautiful, and all their attempts to erase you were so very wrong.”

Fingon returned the kiss and stroked Gildor’s cheek.  “So, how do I unlearn these things? You have to forgive me, but it sounds both easy and hard at the same time.”

“Let me ask you this. If I brought a corset into this room, and asked you to put it on and go downstairs wearing it, what kinds of feelings would you have about doing that?”

“Down-downstairs?”  The look of terror was in Fingon’s eyes.  “I...in front...of…” He looked away, and then looked back.  “Well, that would be quite impossible. Elrond confined me to this bed,” he answered.

“This is a rhetorical question, silly. I know that. I am trying to find out how you feel about the idea, and if the expression on your face was any indication, your anxiety level at the mere suggestion is sky high. So now I can answer your question. One of the ways you learn to lose the anxiety is to test out the things you want to do gradually, in a safe space. When you are comfortable with that at some future time, you could then consider being seen in public. Like what Erestor did with his head covering, before he decided to wear one to work.”

“Or like how I dragged you into the Flaming Peacock the other day...and now I understand better some of your initial fear of being seen. It is not about being queer, it is about how your family systematically made you feel ashamed to exist,” Maedhros said tenderly.

Again, Fingon chewed at his lip.  He stopped upon feeling the sting of raw skin.  “There are about a half dozen corsets in the bottom drawer of the dresser in the room I used to live in,” he said quietly.  “I used to wear them in there. For myself. For Beleg. He…” Fingon took a deep breath. “He used to tell me how pretty I was.”  Fingon ground his teeth. “I get attached to people, then I lose them. I think that might be part of my problem now. The closer I get, the more I distance myself because...I just expect...disappointment.”

“How many of them did you marry?” Maedhros asked. “You have two extremely comely men out there to whom you have bound yourself, and who would follow you through Indis’ potato salad and back. Though it is true that no one can predict the future with absolute certainty, I really do not think you are going to get rid of them, though you might manage to make things harder and more painful for them if you keep on with the distancing thing. And since I intend in some distant time to add myself to that list, it would save me a lot of trouble chasing your ass down if we could just all agree to get through this. I am not Beleg, Finya. Neither are Glorfindel and Erestor.”

Fingon closed his eyes.  “I know,” he said quietly.  “Just like, no one here is Faelion.”

“I still kind of want to see that guy get a really big boot straight up his ass--” Gildor’s full sentiment was stifled by Maedhros. 

“Sweetums, maybe not just now, for Fingon’s sake?” Maedhros asked, receiving a guilty nod.

“Sorry,” Gildor said again. “I am saying that a lot today. Anyway. That...creature...never made a promise he could keep. Everyone under this roof is just the opposite. It is understandable to feel fear. Trust is like…” Gildor sighed. “I could tell you that if I ever betrayed you, you have permission to tie me down and stab me repeatedly with kitchen knives, but that might be a kink for some people,” he frowned.

Maedhros rolled his eyes. “Sweetheart?”

“Shut up?” Gildor asked.

“Yes. While I--”

“Knockity knock, the next temptation from the master chefs in the kitchen arrives!” Glorfindel announced, easing the door open. “How is everyone--oh. This is not a good time?” he asked with a worried expression.

“Fin.  My Fin--come here, please.”  Fingon scrambled to sit up, and reached out for Glorfindel.

Hurriedly setting down the tray, Glorfindel crawled through the space Gildor opened up next to Fingon, easing himself into Fingon’s arms with care. A sigh not meant to escape flew from his lips anyway, and he allowed himself to do what he had dreamed of doing for hours now but did not think would be possible.

Clinging to Glorfindel, Fingon whispered to his husband, “I am so sorry, Fin. I know I have caused you grief, and I never meant for that.  I love you so much, and there are times I just cannot believe that you or anyone else could possibly love me. And I know those are ghost voices of the past, and I know it is in my head, but this is damned hard sometimes.  I need you, darling, and I do not say that enough. I love you, honey. So much.”

“I do not mind,” Glorfindel answered with a voice full of worry. “I know you do not mean it that way. I just want so much for you to be happy and I feel helpless. I would do anything for you because I love you.” He was doing a stellar job of not crying while he spoke, and even congratulated himself a little. Only a small sniffle betrayed the battle within. “Do you want to see what I made for you?”

“I would love that,” said Fingon.  As he released his hold on Glorfindel, he added, “I am sorry I said the food earlier looked like unicorn puke.  I...was trying to make light of the situation, and you and Celebrían are working hard to take care of me. I should have been more sensitive to that.”

The corner of Glorfindel’s lips twitched, and he snorted an giggled. Then he giggled some more. 

“Fin?” Gildor asked. “Everything alright?”

Glorfindel nodded, his hand now covering his mouth, as he pointed at the covered bowl on the tray. Curious, Gildor picked up the spoon and handed it to Fingon, uncovering it. Swirled, but otherwise bland looking clouds of pale...something...nestled in amongst streaks of honey. A noise was heard in the hallway, and a knock came on the door that was rather heavy. “Unicorn plops! Unicorn plops!” Asfaloth’s voice carried excitedly while he laughed. “Did you tell him? Did you? Did he laugh? Get it? Pale unicorn, pale plops?”

Glorfindel shrieked and planted his face into the pillow, overcome with helpless laughter. Maedhros chuckled, and Gildor snorted into his hands a few times.

“And this has to be unicorn urine,” guessed Fingon as he poked the spoon into the honey.  He spooned up some of the mush, scrutinized it, and put it into his mouth. “This is the gayest thing I have ever eaten,” he said.  “The only thing that could top this is edible glitter sprinkles.”

An extremely alarming clatter was heard as “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” trailed all the way down the staircase and into the distance.

“Wait for it,” Glorfindel giggled.

Sure enough, the noise that had almost vanished began to increase again, until the hallway seemed like a herd of stones was moving along it. Then the bedroom door crashed open. Asfaloth, jumping up and down with excitement and somehow not hitting his head on the doorjamb, approached carefully carrying a very small basket. Bearing a huge grin, he held his pinched-together fingers over Fingon’s bowl, and little minced candied edible flower petals fell onto Fingon’s creamed wheat; bits of purple, pink, orange and yellow all spread in a nice pattern. With equal caution, the horse backed away and closed the door behind him before the horrendous clatter resumed. 

“Unicorn kisses! Unicorn kisses!” Asfaloth yelled at least down to the kitchen. 

Glorfindel panted for air, still laughing.

“Clearly, these are unicorn kisses,” decided Fingon as the others laughed around him.  “And they do taste fabulous, if I do say so myself,” he said in an airy voice with just the slightest hint of a lisp that only Maedhros had ever heard before.

Maedhros stopped laughing, but continued to grin.  “Was that just your ‘sassy bitch’ I heard?” he asked with a raised brow.  

“Shut up; I love you,” was the reply before Fingon went back to eating his lunch.

Glorfindel, exponentially happier, retreated out the door. Tea should next be brewed and served. Resuming his original seat to give Fingon more room, Gildor very quietly sighed with relief, deciding this might not be a lost cause after all.

Between mouthfuls of food, Fingon explained to Gildor in his usual voice, “When Maedhros and I would go to those parties far from home, I had a...personality I adopted.  He nicknamed it ‘sassy bitch’ because most of what I would say was contradictory sentences, like the ‘Shut up, I love you’ thing. It was always accompanied by glittery cosmetics, risque clothing, and a lot of hair.  It was one of the few times I would leave it unbraided and let it do what it wanted.”

“And he flirted with everyone,” shared Maedhros.  “He would rudely gesture at fellow competitors and then blow them kisses, and often told people ‘I hate you; come with us’ to invite them.”

Gildor chuckled. “It suits you. I look forward to meeting all such creations as time goes on.”

“Hopefully, ‘kitten’ will make an appearance sooner than later,” Maedhros tentatively said.

Fingon licked his lips.  “Kitten is a little skittish.”  He scraped around the edges of the bowl.  “Also, Faelion broke my bell. Told me it was childish.”

“Maybe he does need a boot up his ass,” mused Maedhros.

Gildor smirked in a ‘told you so’ fashion to Maedhros.  “How is your unicorn...food?”

“Unicorn droppings taste pretty good,” said Fingon.  “I like the unicorn kisses better, though.”

“Who would not?” Gildor teased. “So...do I get to know about kitten, and the bell, or is that top secret?” 

“Every kitten needs a bell, you know.  Keeps them out of trouble,” said Maedhros.  “So, what did he do? Faelion, that is.”

“Stepped on it.  Well…” Fingon finished his food and set the bowl on the tray.  “I was sitting in a chair, reading, purring without thinking about it, you know, the usual, and he came into my room, this was after I told him I was not interested in his advances, so I hissed at him and he tore it off my neck, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it.”  Fingon reached over to pick up the glass of water. “Then he told me I was childish, and I had to learn to act my age, and...talking about him is just going to give me indigestion,” he said as he rubbed his chest. “Basically, it is just another...what to call it...not really a ‘personality’, that makes it seem like I am not still there.  Just a...different way of being, and it is very feline. I have pretend cat ears,” he added very quickly at the end.

“I would like to see that,” Gildor licked his lips. “I mean, if or when you feel ready of course. I only...honestly that sounds incredibly sexy,” he shrugged, then came to his senses. “I am a professional. I am behaving myself professionally. Gildor is not going to talk about that right now,” he frowned, heading into a monologue. “Gildor knows that is completely inappropriate at a time when professional behavior is expected. That is why Gildor is picking up his book and proceeding to make some more notes in that script only Gildor can read,” he muttered.

“Everything well over there, sweetheart?” Maedhros asked. Gildor talking about himself in the third person was something a little new.

Gildor glanced up. “We are all fine over here, Mae Mae.”

“I still have the ears,” said Fingon.  “I bet they would look even better now with my hair like this.”

A little whining noise escaped Gildor, whose pencil broke at that moment. “Dammit,” he said, closing the book. “Pardon me for a moment, I need the sharpening knife,” he muttered, adjusting his trousers on his way out.

“You are terrible,” Maedhros purred to Fingon. “I like it.”

Fingon waited a moment to reply, mostly to be sure Gildor was not right at the door.  “The tail and ears are in the same drawer of the dresser--right at the bottom. I cannot leave this bed, but you are under no such restriction…”

“Mmmm, my tempting temptress kitten sassy-bitch...those shall stay where they are because I have the fear of my son’s wrath, should I aid you to go against his orders for your health. But now I know, and rest assured they shall not lie undisturbed for long.” Maedhros bestowed a sloppy kiss to Fingon’s cheek, which was slightly rough from the growing stubble. “You smell like unicorns.”

Fingon snorted.  “I was only going to tease him a little, but I am not going to argue with you.  Besides, I really should find a new bell,” he said.

“I wish sometimes I could still use a forge,” Maedhros said wistfully. “Oddly enough, I never miss it for the big things. But...I would like to make you a bell. I would make you a little bell, and set it with jewels and it would make such a pretty sound. And if someone tried to step on it they would not be walking for a week, because my bell would not be so easily crushed,” he smiled. “Eh. We will find one, I have little doubt.”

“A gold bell with sapphires,” imagined Fingon.  “I wonder--could you teach me? Could we try to make things together?”

“I could. It can be an exacting and frustrating pursuit. So many kinds of metals, and gems. Honestly it is easier to focus on one or the other, father was a little extraordinary in that regard. But yes, you are able, if you have the will and the patience.”

“I find myself suddenly in need of a new hobby.  I think my hands are too big to be good for lapidary, but I think I could channel my strength into beating metal into submission.  Who knows; maybe it would prove a good way to channel my frustrations,” said Fingon.

“Iron and steel work are like that. More so iron. Though honestly it depends on what one desires to make. The demand for swords has all but vanished. I suppose we could do a thriving trade in horseshoes or garden tools,” Maedhros teased. “Candlesticks, candelabras, lamp posts...we could start a regular chandlery.”

“I like the idea of things that give off light,” said Fingon.  “And bells,” he added.

“Do you feel a little better, Finya? A little less burdened? I cringe to think how many more such stories you have kept hidden.”

“I am feeling better...and I doubt it was just the unicorn kisses,” he joked.  “I mean, I was ready to put the ears on. And do you know what is even better? No headache,” he revealed.  “Usually, by now, I would have a headache.”

“That means more to me than you can know,” Maedhros said, cuddling him. “I knew that you suffered, Finya. I just did not know how to help you. I have always wanted to help you.”

Fingon kissed Maedhros, first on the nose, and then on the lips.  “I do not think I knew how much help I needed,” he said. After another nuzzle he asked, “Is Gildor still gone because he needed to go find a place to, uh, take care of some non-professional business before he came back?”

“No,” Maedhros laughed. “He is scurrying around the house trying to find his favorite knife for sharpening pencils. We all have our quirks and Gildor has his. Though I am sure he would not say no to a, uh, offer of relief later on.”

“So long as I get leave from Elrond...then again, perhaps I should just rest a little longer.  Just in case.”

A smile broke across Maedhros’ face. He had meant that  _ he  _ could give Gildor a good pounding and ease his needs, and it was beyond adorable that Fingon was signing himself up for Gildor Duty. And, he immediately realized, if there was any chance that it would be a future performance, he most certainly wanted a front row seat.  “Yes, rest. Elrond is my son, and I have to live with him. The thought of his wrath would shrivel the most amorous of penises. I mean it. All I have to do is think of that eyebrow arched in anger, and--” He patted his crotch. “No activity whatsoever. You should try it. Visualization is a wonderful thing.”

“Do you know what I just realized?  Your son and my son are best friends.  Just like we--” Fingon considered his next words.  “Used to be? Are?” He raised both brows in askance.

“Finya…” Maedhros leaned down. “Are and always will be.” His lips sealed the promise.

Wrapping his arms around Maedhros, Fingon returned this kiss and initiated many more, until a noise outside the door made them both abruptly pull back.  A moment later, Elrond walked in, carrying the tools of his trade in his small leather bag. Behind him, Celebrían entered with a fresh pitcher of water, two more glasses, and a jar of salt on a tray.  “I think we should see about removing those sutures,” suggested Elrond. “Ada, can you help prop Fingon up against some pillows? I think that will be far more comfortable than having him move to a chair for this.”

Immediately Maedhros rose in order to do as he had been asked, winking at Fingon once the task had been deemed completed in a satisfactory manner.

Gildor chose that moment to storm down the hallway. Seeing the door ajar, he did not hesitate to speak. “Mae Mae! I cannot find my favorite knife anywhere! I know I left it on the table where I like to make the card houses and--” Seeing Elrond, he immediately hushed. “Oops. Sorry.”

Elrond stood and cleared his throat. “Would you feel comfortable, Fingon, allowing Celebrían and I to do the suture removal and having these two step outside? I really could use as much light as possible and the extra bodies will interfere with the mirror.”

“Mirror?” Maedhros asked, confused.

“Glorfindel!” Elrond called loudly. 

“Coming!” The blond ooched carefully into the room holding one of their larger mirrors and held it in the position Elrond wished, to amplify the natural light in the room.

“Mirror,” Elrond said, the eyebrow beginning to arch. “Fingon?”

“Can Glorfindel stay with me?”

Glorfindel’s voice came from behind the mirror frame. “I am not going anywhere, sweetie, but is it okay if I hold the mirror? If you need me right there, I can trade with Celebrían. Whatever makes you happiest.”

Fingon curled and uncurled his toes.  “I...guess...you can stay there...butthelasttimeIhadstitchesoutitreallyhurtandIwanttoholdyourhand,” he sped through, looking slightly ashamed to admit such a thing.

“Ai!” Celebrían said. “No!” Marching over, she relieved Glorfindel of the mirror and nudged him toward Fingon. “Over there, no arguing!”

“Thank Eru you said something,” Elrond sighed at Fingon. “I have a salve that will numb the tissues prior to the removal. It is not anywhere near the strength of the medicine I used to open the abscess. May I use some of that to reduce any discomfort you might have?” 

“Uh-huh,” Fingon agreed, already wide-eyed. 

Pulling up a chair, Elrond sat down, while gesturing for Glorfindel to take Fingon’s hand. “Now. We will not do anything at all until you tell me of this other experience. I want to know why you had the stitches. Let me hear the story, please?

Bumps rose up along Fingon’s arms, and Glorfindel rubbed the cool skin.  “There will be no judgements here,” Glorfindel assured his husband. “Elrond just wants to make sure he does not do something that will make the situation worse if he can help it.”

Fingon squeezed Glorfindel’s hand tightly.  “It has to do with what you found the other day.”

“This was something recent?” asked Elrond.  “If that is the case, they healed very well.”

“No.”  Fingon curled his toes tightly.  “Do I have to tell you?” he whispered.

“No,” answered Elrond as he sterilized his instruments.  “No one will force you to tell us what happened. It often makes it easier, though.  When we share our anxiety and trauma with others, they might not be able to understand, but they can be a part of the experience so that we are not alone.”

“Most of the anxiety you feel has to do with the anxiety that others would know; fearing what others think.  We all love you,” said Gildor. “No one here will think less of you for whatever it was.”

“And Finya--some of us already know,” Maedhros said softly from the doorway.

Fingon looked up.  “How would you know? I never told you.”

“Your father did.  When we started spending a lot of time together.  He told me some things. He wanted me to be prepared.  I decided you would either tell me in your own time, or did not want to discuss them.  That said, I agree with Gildor and Elrond. They are professionals; I was just a...lovestruck young Elf who thought everything was fine.”

“Maybe you should just tell the story,” suggested Fingon.

“Finya.”  Maedhros came back to the bed and sat down on the side opposite of Elrond and Glorfindel.  “Sweetheart. I know how brave you can be. I know it firsthand. I know how private you are.  I know how hard it is for you to open up to others--but my love, it is different now. We go beyond ourselves.  You and I, Glorfindel, Erestor, Gildor...this is something more. We are together as one. When you suffer, we suffer--but at least if we suffer knowing why, we stand a better chance of overcoming, accepting…”  All the while, Maedhros stroked Fingon’s hair. “Please tell us, in your words, what happened.”

“I will… try,” Fingon said.

\---

It was a warm day, and Fingon and Fingolfin spent it outdoors fishing, until even being riverside could not combat the heat.  They walked back home, making a game of spotting different birds before the other, and found that Turgon was napping. Anairë had been sitting on the patio with her fan, but was up from her chair as soon as her husband and son returned.  “Now that you are home,” she said to Fingolfin after a kiss on the cheek, “I am going to join some of the ladies in the neighborhood at the baths in the caves. I baked bread all morning with Turgon, and I need some relief from this sweltering heat.”

“That seems fair.  Come along, Fin,” directed Fingolfin.

“Can I go with you to the baths?” asked Fingon hopefully.  Just standing in shadow of the house, blocked from the intense light of the trees that seemed to be the source of the heat, still made Fingon sweat.  He wiped his forehead with his hand.

“Oh, sweetling, I would take you if you were my daughter, but this is for ladies only.  I am sure you and your father will have a nice afternoon together,” Anairë told Fingon. She barely brushed a kiss upon his forehead before she headed down the path, barefoot and fanning herself the entire way.

“Come on, Fin.  Let me make you lunch.  What would you like?”

“Nothing.”

Fingolfin sighed.  “Fin, you have to eat lunch.”

“Not hungry.”

Fingolfin rubbed his head.  “Fin, you would not be safe there anyhow.  You cannot swim, and some of those pools are deep.  If you slipped, the water would go right over your head.  I thought you were afraid of the water anyhow,” Fingolfin said as he opened the door and ushered Fingon inside.

“Just the sea,” Fingon corrected.

“The sea and the rivers and even a cup of water are all the same water.”

“Sea water tastes salty,” countered Fingon.

“If you are just looking to argue with me, then you can go up to your room,” Fingolfin said sternly.  

“I do not want to go to my room.  I want to go to the baths.”

“You are not a girl, so you cannot go, and that is final.  If you want lunch, I am making some now. If your brother is awake, you can let him know it is down here.”

Fingon, in that moment, did not care about whether or not Turgon was awake.  All he cared about was the knife he had seen his father take out of a drawer and place on the counter.  Fingolfin walked into the next room to put their fishing poles away, and Fingon seized the opportunity. The knife was quickly tucked into his waistband; his tunic pulled over it before his father was back in the kitchen.  “I will tell him,” Fingon replied, and then he left swiftly, but not too swiftly. The knife was placed under his pillow, and he flopped on his bed, trying to ignore the casual snores from Turgon.

Then he waited.  Waited until he could smell food cooking.  Waited until he poked at Turgon and told his sleepy brother that there was food, and that he was going to nap, and not to wait for him.  Waited until enough time had passed that he was certain his brother and father were eating and no one would disturb him.

The knife seemed sharp.  It was different from the knife he used the first time he tried.  The first time, the knife had been flat and smooth, and not very sharp.  That time, he tried sawing and stabbing, but he only managed to bruise himself and in the end, came up with an embarrassing lie to cover what he had attempted.  He tapped a finger against the serrated side of the knife. Definitely sharp. It would do.

Fingon set the knife aside on the pillow and quickly stripped off his clothing.  There was no lock on the door, but he carefully closed it as silently as possible before he crept back to his bed.  A week earlier, he had tried a rope, hoping to make it just fall off, because the first attempt with the knife had been such an utter failure.  He still wondered why no one had asked what he was doing when they found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his genitals purplish-blue, looking quite bored and frustrated. This time, there would be no questions, either--it would be obvious.

Lying down was very unhelpful; there was no way to see what he was trying to do, so Fingon walked with the knife to a little mirror on the wall.  He took it from the wall and propped it up on the floor. Now he saw the ugly abomination, and he shuddered as he reached down to grasp hold of it.  He tried to decide if it would be easier to cut it off from the front to back or the reverse. If the knife was in front, it blocked his view, so from the back seemed a better option.

With the knife in position, Fingon hesitated for a moment.  What if his mother still did not accept him as a girl? Would it be any different than it was now, he reasoned with himself, and he pressed the knife closer, adjusted his footing, and gave a good thrust with the blade before he could dwell on his decision any longer.  

The pain was sharp and instantaneous, and the blood trickled down his leg faster than he anticipated, spreading out over his foot and onto the floor beneath him.  He pulled the knife back, realized it was his leg that hurt the most, and saw in the mirror the wound created in his thigh just as he swooned and grabbed hold of a nearby chair.  It aided him from hitting the ground hard, but all the same, he slid down and passed out.

He was unaware of how long he was out, but when he gained consciousness again, he felt tired and nauseous.  He reached down and felt the blood that was on his skin and all over the floor around him. He felt the knife, too, and shakily managed to grasp it.  In an attempt to finish what was started, he hacked at himself again. The burst of pain caused him to black out once more.

His next memory was to open his eyes and see the ceiling over his bed.  He knew it was over his bed because of the mobile of eagles hanging overhead.  His father was beside him, shouting something at Turgon. Something about pressure and a healer.  The next Fingon knew, his brother and father swapped places. Turgon dutifully kept his hands pressed down on the towels that covered Fingon’s self-inflicted wounds.  Blood was beginning to seep through.

“Where...where is father?” mumbled Fingon when he turned his head against the pillow and saw he and Turgon were alone in the room.

“He said he had to get a healer.”  Turgon frowned and pressed harder on the towels, balancing on his knees on the bed.  “You look hurt, but he said you are sick.”

Fingon closed his eyes and turned his head the other way.

When the wounds were sewn shut, Fingon barely noticed; he remembered the cold chill and the queasy feeling in his stomach.  He remembered the haze in his head, and the pain in the back of his neck because the pillow was not positioned very well. He remembered the uncertain looks the adults gave each other, and how no one, save for Turgon, would look at him.  He recalled how his mother rushed into the room before the healer was finished, and how she and his father began to fight and left the room amid shouting and a suggestion from the healer to go elsewhere. Fingon could not remember the actual words, except that they said his name a lot.

The removal of the stiches, however, was very painful.  First, it was not the healer who had come to the house, but another that he and his mother had to travel to.  Travel had not been pleasant; he complained the moment he was sitting on his pony that his stitches pulled and hurt, and was tersely reminded that there would be no stitches if he had not done what he did.

The visit was worse than the ride.  He was made to sit over two hours while other patients were tended to (his healing had all taken place in bed), and when he was finally led into the room, his mother was not allowed in with him.  When the first stitch was removed, he cried out, for the skin had healed in such a way that the sutures were fused to it. Instead of being given a sedative, he was held down by four other people at the clinic, one of them with a hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming as the stitches were ripped out.  The greatest insult of all was to be offered a candy from a glass jar as he waddled out of the exam room.

As he approached his mother, he could see she was having a discussion with another lady.  “--and the nice thing is, they charge one fee, up front, and they keep him as long as they need to.  However long it takes, they will take care of him until he is well again.”

“He is very young, though.  This may pass,” he heard his mother say.

“Anairë.  We mothers make excuses for our children all the time.  What he is doing is not normal,” the lady hissed. “You have a younger son, and you have talked about having more children; do you really want the bad apple to ruin the whole basket?”

“Give me the name of the place.  I will look into it,” said Anairë before she noticed Fingon.  “Ah, there you are, Fin. Come along. We need to stop at the market.”

“But I--”

“You are in no position to negotiate, young man.  Come along.”

Clutching the wrapped piece of hard candy, Fingon obediently followed after his mother with his head down.

\---

The healer listened very carefully to all that was said. “I see. I promise you, this will not be anything like that, for oral tissues respond very differently than those elsewhere in the body.  I also promise no one will hold you down or forcibly remove them from you. I have something to numb the area, and something you can take that will help calm you. All the while, Glorfindel will be here with you.  Does that put you a little at ease?” asked Elrond, and Fingon nodded. “Good. Now, if at any time you need me to stop, tell me, and we will. First, practice opening for me…”

Celebrian motioned with her head for those at the door to exit, and they did so.

Out in the hallway after their dismissal, conflicting emotions jumbled Maedhros’ features.  “When I hear him finally reveal these things, all I can think of is, where was I in all of this?  I know, with this, it was before he and I were...shit, here I am, trying to justify it all, when the fact remains that ultimately, his parents had an obligation to him and they failed that obligation over and over.”

Gildor watched his husband carefully. “He was failed, Mae Mae, but we both know it goes deeper than his parents. This is a lot to hear, for all of us. I know that we will want to look for who to blame and in what measure; it is a natural reaction. What will matter more to Fingon is that we demonstrate that this does not change our love for him--because that is true. I swear I feel like the more I hear, the more my heart goes out.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know for you it must be even more.”

“I just wanted to go over to him and pick him up and tell him everything is going to be all right from now on.”  Maedhros sighed. “Glorfindel is with him. Glorfindel needs to be the one to do that--and I feel Glorfindel is the most qualified to do that of all of us.”

“While I do not disagree, I would like to hear why you feel thusly?” Gildor asked, vaguely appalled with his own formality.

Maedhros did not take it to be in any way negative, even joking a little.  “Still in healer mode, I see. Well, of the three remaining candidates, as far as I know, while Erestor has struggled with understanding his sexuality, he has always felt comfortable with his form so far as it relates to his gender.  You have never expressed to me anything of the sort, either, and I am a proudly open homosexual male, so I think I am least able to say ‘I understand’ to what Fingon is going through. I can listen; I can offer my support. But Glorfindel had similar feelings, albeit for a different reason, but he knows this feeling of uncertainty, this turmoil, this hiding of thoughts and feelings from all others for reasons that should not be.  They need each other.”

“Well spoken,” Gildor complimented, buffing his fingernails to a higher sheen against his tunic sleeve. “Besides, do I even have a mode that is not healer mode or cock mode? Wait. There is fabulous mode, but that might be a subset of cock mode.”

“Gildor…” Maedhros sighed, but smiled. “Never change.”

“So, what you are telling me is, time for cock mode?”  Gildor gazed up at Maedhros with eyes full of adoration and lust.  _ Please? Please Mae Mae? I promise this will not need much effort on your part.  _ He moved his mate’s hand to his groin to feel the pulsing organ.

Grinning, Maedhros nodded, allowing himself to be led swiftly to their room, where the door was silently closed behind them.

“This will need to be the quickest quickie ever,” Maedhros warned, opening the ties on his pants. Gildor grasped pillows, dirty clothes and an even more questionable towel and threw them onto the floor. The vial of oil was handed to Maedhros somewhere amidst this frenetic movement, that produced Gildor on all fours, bowed down, with his ass wiggling in the air. “I guess I do not have to ask how you want me.”

A muffled groan was his only answer. Maedhros paused for a moment, slicking his shaft and oiling Gildor’s entrance before making a far more delicate show than usual of returning the bottle to its resting place.

“Mae Mae!” Gildor hissed. “Please! Just this one time, please!”

One gentle touch against Gildor’s hip was his only warning, before Maedhros plunged deep inside, burying himself fully. Underneath him Gildor panted and shook, biting his lip. His blond mane flew over his shoulders from a toss of his head. Throwing himself backwards, the attempt was made to bring his lover still deeper. “I have you, lover,” Maedhros whispered, locking his stump around Gildor’s chest. Furiously, he rode Gildor while his hand worked the tumescent length. Had they ever tried to do this? Usually it was the other way around, trying to prolong their encounters to the extent possible. In moments, as promised, Gildor’s breath came in heaving gasps until his body stiffened and spurted into the piled clothing.

_ Mae Mae! Oh Mae Mae Mae Mae. I needed that so bad. If I had a thousand hearts all of them would love you. Love you love you.  _ Still shuddering, Gildor began to relax against Maedhros’ body, before remembering the unfortunate circumstances of their encounter.  _ Oh no. Have to get back...have to sharpen my pencil… _

_ I think I sharpened my pencil just fine _ , Maedhros noted laconically, raising both of them to their feet.

Gildor beamed. Then his face fell.  _ Did you finish? You did not finish, did you… _

_ Sweetie, I will be fine. You needed this and I wanted to give it to you.  _ Turning Gildor around, he kissed him soundly. _ I want you to know how grateful I am for you, Gildor. Every true joy in my life has been on account of you and I am never going to forget that. Now get your pants back on before we are missed! _

Cleanup with another hapless article of laundry took just a few seconds, and the two snuck back down the hallway trying to seem completely nonchalant.  _ Better find that knife,  _ Maedhros smiled, sending Gildor down the stairs with a smack to his behind.

“Maedhros? Is that you?” Elrond called out the door. “I could use one more set of hands.”   
  


“Of course,” the redhead answered.

“Where were you? I asked for you a moment ago and you had disappeared,” Elrond muttered.    
  
“Oh, sorry,” Maedhros replied. “Poor Gildor had the worst time, but we got his pencil sharpened.”

“Ah!” Elrond chuckled. “Note-taking, of course. That is one aspect more prevalent to his line of healing than mine. I prefer pens, you know. Here, would you please hold this small tray near Fingon’s mouth? The sedative and numbing agent have taken effect.  We are just ready to begin.”

Fingon concentrated on keeping his eyes closed, his mouth open, and his arms tightly around the one belonging to Glorfindel that was nearest to him.  He knew his breathing was unsteady, but he kept it as even as possible, in and out through his nose as Elrond had requested he do.

With great precision, Elrond reached in with the curved hemostat to gently elevate a loop for each stitch. Then, in went the scissors. Given that he would not actually touch Fingon or pull, he elected not to attract attention to the sharp object inside of his mouth. One tiny and inaudible snip for each suture, as near to the knot as possible, until all were severed. Then… “Are you feeling any discomfort thus far, Fingon? Do you need to close your mouth for a moment?” Elrond asked.

“Is it going well?  I cannot feel much,” said Fingon.

“Very well,” Elrond told him. “If you are fine, then please open up again. I will ask you from time to time if you feel alright, or you can squeeze Glorfindel’s hand if there is discomfort and he can tell me.” Back in went the curved hemostat, gently grasping and locking onto each thread, pulling with incremental slowness to break the slight resistance of the healing tissue around the thread. One by one, they slipped out easily. “Are we still doing well?” Elrond asked again. A grunt that Glorfindel translated as being affirmative signaled for him to try the last one, which was a tiny bit more stubborn. It required just a marginal amount of extra traction and then it too broke free. No bleeding, all sutures accounted for. Placing the last stitch on the tray, Elrond added the instruments. Celebrían swiftly appropriated the tray to take them away for cleaning and boiling. “You were an excellent patient, Fingon. Thank you very much for holding so still,” Elrond smiled. “I think a salt water rinse, and we will be done for now. Afterward, more tea and water.”

Fingon readily complied with rinsing and resting back against the pillow nest.  He gave a squeeze to Glorfindel’s arm. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Of course, love. I hope it was not too bad?” Glorfindel inquired.

“I hardly felt anything,” admitted Fingon.  “Thank you, Elrond,” he said, and the healer bowed his head on his way out of the room with Celebrian.  “Are you able to stay?” Fingon asked Glorfindel. “Or did you have other things to do?”

“If you want me to stay then I have nothing else to do,” Glorfindel smiled. “Snuggle time?”

“Certainly snuggling.  I do not know if Maedhros and Gildor will be back, so there may be snuggle therapy or snuggling with therapy going on, too.”  Fingon stifled a yawn. “Thank you for everything, Fin.”

“All I really did was make creamed wheat,” Glorfindel admitted, crawling over to lie next to Fingon in the bed. “Are you getting a little sleepy?”

“Not sleepy enough to sleep.  Just sleepy enough to be glad I am not struggling through work today.”  Fingon put an arm around Glorfindel and nestled his head on Glorfindel’s shoulder.  He closed his eyes, and it seemed at first that he had drifted to sleep, but then he asked, “Do you remember what I told you a couple of weeks ago, when we were alone in the library, about corsets?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel hummed, snuggling closer. “Pretty corsets, so nice.”

“Some of the ones I own are pretty.  I also have some that are...not as typical.  I have two that are made of leather. What do you think about that?” asked Fingon.

“Leather is sexy,” Glorfindel sighed. “The feel, the strength and smoothness of it. After all, it is skin. Would you ever wear them for me?” he asked wistfully. “I would like that.”

“I was thinking about it,” Fingon said cautiously.  “What do you think Erestor would think?”

“HmmmHmmmHmmm,” Glorfindel smiled, his eyes closing. “Ress likes bondage. That was always hard for me. You might want to be careful, he will want you to wear it everywhere. Even the library. Mmmm you are causing trouble, lover. We all have to behave ourselves until Elrond says otherwise. Naughty. Making me want you, thinking of you looking like that. I am going to dream about you now, wearing it. So desirable. What color is the leather, sweeties?”

“In the library?  I just might do that for him sometime.  Only he would know I had it on,” mused Fingon, and now he could feel a stirring in his groin.  “As I said, I have two. One is brown, rather plain, but...practical. The other is black, sewn with silver threads,” he said.

“I will want to see them all. I want--”

A sharp rap fell on the door, followed by Gildor and Maedhros. “His pencil is completely ready,” the redhead announced, making his way to the chair. “I thought you should know.”

Fingon beckoned Maedhros back to the bed to join himself and Glorfindel there as Gildor sat on the chair and opened his book.  Just as Gildor positioned his pencil on the page, Fingon said, “We were just discussing corsets...I was thinking of a private fashion show.  I am sure I can arrange for all of you to have front row seats.” There was a snap as the sound of the nib breaking off of the pencil was heard by all.

“Awwwwww,” Gildor said, slamming the book shut. “This is no good. My cock is running my brain. Sorry, the therapist has left the building. I will do better next time.”

Maedhros patted what little space was left on the bed.  “We still have some room,” he offered.

“I was telling Glorfindel about my leather corsets before you returned,” added Fingon in a voice so innocent that if there was any question as to his acting skills, it was immediately put to rest.

“So what you are really saying is that you are trying to get all of us in trouble with Elrond for winding up in a fuck-fest when you are supposed to be resting,” Maedhros declared with his arms crossed.

“That was not supposed to happen today,” Glorfindel frowned. “I just liked the idea, is all. I mean, he would look dead sexy in one of those, and then if I added a--”

Gildor’s hand clapped over Glorfindel’s mouth. “Not helping,” he whined, while his trousers visibly tented.

“I have matching boots that go with the black and silver one,” Fingon remembered.  “If I pull my hair back...yes, I think that would work.” His hands had wandered to his hair, already deciding on a style to go with the garment.

Gildor flopped back on the bed, quietly whimpering. Glorfindel bit his lip. “Should I get some cold water?”

“The boots go up to my thighs.  I hardly wear them because they are so tight.”  Fingon turned his head one way and then the other to look at his companions.  “My only regret is not having Erestor here to tease, too.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck meeeeeeeeeeee,” Gildor moaned. 

“Somebody should do something,” Glorfindel protested. “Maedhros, do you want to take care of him?”

Maedhros’ eyebrow arched. “I always want to, dear Glorfindel, but he is hard to keep satisfied. I cannot help but notice that you are closer.” Mischief sparkled in his eyes.

“You want me to...for him?” Glorfindel pointed at Gildor’s erection, not certain he had heard correctly.

“Well, Elrond did not say any of the rest of us could not have our blood pressures rise,” Maedhros noted.

“Mae Mae, not fair,” Gildor whined some more. “Talking like that, teasing, you know what it does…”

“I used to practice a lot of tantric relaxation,” piped up Fingon.  “A lot of it helps lower blood pressure, so if I do that, and my blood pressure rises a teensy bit, it should all cancel out,” he reasoned, for while he sounded unaffected, the sheet over his groin was telling another tale.

“From where I am, little Káno does not seem too relaxed,” Gildor noted, unable to divert his eyes.

“There is nothing little about my sexy man,” Glorfindel rumbled in a throaty voice, tapping the sheet over Fingon’s burgeoning erection with yearning. Then he sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I cannot do it. Elrond will skin me alive, and I would deserve it. I can take Gildor somewhere discreet and at least keep one person a little happy.”

“Fin...do you remember that night in Rivendell when you and Erestor and I had a moment in our minds?” asked Gildor, waggling his brows.

“Is this a story I am supposed to remember?” wondered Fingon as he pulled up another blanket to better block his erection from view.

A broad smile erupted from Glorfindel, revealing his lovely teeth. “As if I could forget that. That was water on the desert. Sweetener on a bitter fruit. A cool breeze to a--”

“A yes would have sufficed, Fin,” Gildor teased. “And no fair hiding that beautiful body part you are blessed to have, Fingon. I just look at that and think of Mae Mae and I get happy little thoughts like butterflies for how good you can make your husbands feel. Mmmmm. Yummy,” he sighed. “And no, I don’t think you would necessarily remember this one, Fingon. It was in the final days of the Third Age, just before I left Middle-earth forever.”

“Sounds like a good time was had by all,” Fingon said.  “A final fling before the ship sailed?”

“Only if you count what happened up here as a fling,” Glorfindel pointed to his head. “I would have given anything to have a physical encounter with Erestor. But...we were not there yet. We did not finally bond until the Fourth Age, a decent span of time after Gildor sailed.”

When Fingon still looked confused and about to ask a follow-up question, Maedhros whispered to him, “A literal mind fuck is what it sounds like.  A dream?” he queried as Fingon blushed.

“I guess...honestly I am not sure what else to call it. All I know is, I was pretty damn happy to have had whatever it was. It had to carry me over for a really long time,” Glorfindel admitted.

“I have never tried it with more than two other people, but, Fingon, I know you are very capable of getting into the dreams of others,” said Gildor.

Fingon narrowed his eyes. “How do you know about--”

“Shh...Mae Mae told me,” crooned Gildor as he tapped Fingon’s nose.  “Keep that blood pressure down, sweetness. I think with you and I and...I wonder if Erestor happens to be free, because distance does not matter.  That is, if everyone is interested in such a venture,” Gildor said, looking around.

“It cannot violate Elrond’s orders? You are sure?” Glorfindel asked dubiously.

“Absolutely not, sweetcheeks!” Gildor extended his arms to try to embrace everyone at the same time.  “Why, if Elrond checks in, everyone will be at rest! He will merely think we have decided to take an afternoon nap before tea,” he said confidently.

“I really want to. Wait. He won’t walk in and find we all have boners while we sleep, will he?” Glorfindel fretted.

“Mind over matter,” Gildor said with conviction.  “I think we just need to do as the King does, just in case.”

“Mental hard-ons?” Maedhros quipped. “I have to experience this just to say I did.” He grabbed a loose blanket and draped it in a scrunched up mess that just happened to trail over his and Fingon’s groins, flinging the rest toward Glorfindel and Gildor.

Gildor artfully arranged the blanket.  “Someone needs to contact Erestor. I would feel terrible if we left him behind!”

“Normally, I would find a way to not do something like this, but I am both curious and…”  Fingon motioned towards his groin. “...and…”

“And maybe you can make love to Erestor and I without making love to Erestor and I?” Glorfindel asked hopefully. “Oh, wait. Sorry. Mae too. And something for Gildor. Erm...don’t Kings know how to figure stuff like this out? Administration, or something along those lines? Not to stress you or anything. This just sounds exciting. Will there be corsets?”  

As soon as Glorfindel said ‘Mae, too’, two things happened.  Fingon looked at Maedhros, and Maedhros did the reverse. Any other words spoken were lost a coppery eyebrow arched, and dark lips parted.  One smile became two, and upon hearing ‘sounds exciting’, Maedhros said in a low rumble, “Glorfindel, would you be so kind as to contact Erestor to see if he is...available?”

“Oh goody,” Glorfindel grinned, closing his eyes and reaching out to his husband. Then he grinned some more. “He says he needs exactly five minutes and then yes.”

“Five minutes to figure out what sort of royal fantasy we get to partake in,” Maedhros said, brushing loose hairs to the side of Fingon’s face.  “Will we be so honored as to see one of your beautiful corsets? I volunteer to help lace it up. Or will we find you a new bell? Or might we find a different surprise awaiting us?”

Thankful for the strategically placed blanket, Fingon spoke only with his eyes, lifting his brows, looking away, and even giving a playful wink to his red haired lover.

“What do we do?” Maedhros asked. “Sleep? Pretend to sleep?”

“Sleep, darling,” Gildor said softly.  “Relax, sleep, and dream--and we will find each other.”

###  Afternoon - Day 24

A few minutes later, Elrond came into the room with a kettle of tea--and almost immediately walked it back down stairs.  “They are all asleep,” he whispered to Celebrían even though they were not on the same floor as the group resting in the bed upstairs.

“How sweet. I was just about to check on Asfaloth’s progress with the decorations on the roof.  Would you like to join me?”

“It appears I am free.  Are there any preparations I can help with?” he asked.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Celebrían said as she led him back upstairs.

\---

Erestor let his counterparts in the library know that he was going to take a nap, then locked himself in the office he shared with Fingon.  It took a little minor rearranging, but he settled himself under Fingon’s larger desk, using the cushions from the chairs as makeshift pillows.  In only a few minutes, he was slumbering. At first, he was only in his own world, but he felt something reach out to him, or someone more accurately, and reached back.  As if being pulled from his reality to a shared zone, he was in a foggy room, and Gildor was sitting on the edge of a bed. “We need to find the others,” Gildor said, and Erestor nodded in agreement.  Gildor pushed himself up from the bed, and was able to  swim through the air of the room until he reached a window, which he  dived  through.  Erestor followed.

“Fin, come down from there,” Erestor asked, grinning. Already naked, Glorfindel was flying from wall to wall as he pushed off with his legs and floated. 

“Ress, this is so fun! Do I have to?”

“Well, I can think of several sexual delights you will miss out on if you do not,” Erestor purred, tossing his thick black hair over his shoulder and beckoning with a crooked finger.

“Coming down from there,” Glorfindel smiled as he aimed for the floor, catching himself from crashing by grabbing Gildor’s midsection. “Oooh. Hello there,” he greeted what he found right before his eyes.

“And hello to you, too.”  Gildor rubbed his nose against Glorfindel’s.  “A moment, please,” Gildor said, and he swam off through another window, only to return after a moment with Maedhros, who had both of his hands and was garbed in a long green tunic that only just barely kept him modest, unlike Gildor, who had opted for the choice Glorfindel had made.  “This is nice,” Gildor said as he ran a finger along the velvety material.

Maedhros looked at the others and gave them a mock frown.  “Here I thought I was being risque,” he said just before he pulled the tunic off and flung it into unbeing.  “Where is Finya?”

Gildor extended his arm and pointed a finger at a door which seemed only to have just appeared, or that had previously gone unnoticed.  It had the emblem of Fingon’s house upon it, and beneath that, the heraldic device of the High King. “Not sure if we should knock or just go right in,” mused Gildor.

“He said we are never to be different toward him on account of his royalty,” Glorfindel said, charmingly nibbling on his forefinger. “So I am going to brave the door.” Which, after straightening his shoulders and fluffing his hair, his hand moved the latch. Cautiously, he peeked around. “Where is my beautiful lover?” he whispered, suddenly intimidated by the grandiosity of his surroundings. Backing his head out a moment, he turned to the rest of them. “We need to visit here more often.”

“Is he in there?” asked Erestor, who came closer, with the other two elves trailing behind him.

As Erestor neared the door, it was slightly pulled open so that a large golden eye, lined in a rich chocolate brown and adorned with gold powder and glitter peered out at them.  A curled lock of dark hair swung to the side, and the rest was in shadow. “Count to ten. Make a wish. Come within.” Slowly, Fingon pushed the door shut again.

Glorfindel smiled and shivered. He knew what he wished for, so much that he had to concentrate on counting to ten. Boldly, he entered first.

There was a long gold carpet from the door all the way across the room.  Billowy blue velvet curtains hung on either side of the room, and strings of gems lit the room, hanging from the ceiling like dewdrops on strands of silk.  The main attraction was the ornate golden throne at the end of the carpet, and the elf residing there.

With dark tresses hanging to his waist, there were glints of gold curling throughout his mane.  Poking up at the top of his head were catlike ears that matched his hair, and he batted at his own matching tail.  From the distance, it looked as if he was wearing a silky black corset and matching gloves and ballet slippers, but as one approached closer, it was evident that the clothing was made of very fine fur.  He was discreet where the others were not; however, a tight black undergarment left little to the imagination. Cosmetics were plentiful, for his face was given over to more feline features, including the black tip to his nose and the whiskers dotted on his cheeks.  Eyebrows were delicately shaped, and his lips were painted black to go with the catlike appearance. The rest of his body was smooth, from his cheeks to his legs, and he sat on the edge of the throne with one leg crossed over the other as he sized up the others at the door.

Four elves stood staring, each with parted lips. Four elves became aroused, each with their own fantasy as it concerned the sight before them. Erestor swallowed hard. His form was obscured behind more than one diaphanous veil; only his face and neck revealed the creamy skin underneath. “Magnificent. Am I the only one who wants to see him with Maedhros first?”

“I thought the same,” Glorfindel answered, his mouth going dry. 

“Hnnnnnnnnhhhhhhnnn” Gildor moaned, already painfully hard. “Go, Mae Mae. Go to him and make me a feast for my eyes.”

From his perch on the throne, Fingon rearranged his position so that he was lounging sideways, arms over one side of the plush, golden chair so that he could rest his chin upon them, and legs bent over the other arm.  “I lost my bell, Maitimo. Do you happen to have another for me?”

Glorfindel walked to Maedhros, where he raised up on his tip-toes. When his chest leaned forward, their arousals rubbed together but in this he had no choice--by no other means could he reach the clasp on the necklace Maedhros wore. The lovely trinket had not been present just a moment before. A leather thong matching the corset suspended a jeweled bell like the one imagined earlier, glittering with sapphires. A flick of Glorfindel’s hand cause it to tinkle so that all could see ethereal pearls of sound lifting into the air. The cords that held the little orb were untied and placed into Maedhros’ right hand. Glorfindel used his own fingers to close those much longer ones belonging to Maedhros around this little bell conjured up just for Fingon. Blowing a kiss toward Fingon, Glorfindel backed away.

“There it is,” purred Fingon as he slid off the throne and got to his feet.  He moved his hands behind his head to lift up his hair in order to give access to his long neck.  “I would be ever so in your debt if you would bring it back to me. I get into oh-so-much trouble without it.”

“Every tomcat wants a queen,” Glorfindel said, sprouting golden ears and a tail held high. On all fours he stalked toward the throne, moving with incremental slowness. His elbows to hands and knees to feet somehow morphed into those belonging to a feline but he retained his fingertips. Here and there his body rolled on the floor seductively, lashing his tail about impatiently.

“The King of the cats demands opulence, and toys to satisfy his desires,” Erestor said, gliding in dance steps off to Glorfindel’s side. Long wisps of ribbon trailed out behind him, twirling and snaking in tempting designs.

“My lion is going to mingle with the panther,” Gildor breathed in anticipation. “And then we are going to make kittens. He will bite and scratch me while he takes me hard, and I will want every bit of it.” A long claw extended, and he raked a thin bleeding line from his shoulder to almost near his nipple, striding with feline grace to better observe.

Fingon stared at Maedhros with a feral look in his eyes, though his body stayed calm, perfectly unmoving as he continued to stand before the throne.  “A lion, is he? Hmm...king in his own right. Shall we see which high king gets to be...on top?”

Rolling on his belly, Glorfindel closed the distance to the pair, rubbing against both their legs before lying down. Erestor danced around both, alternately binding their bodies together and freeing the same with his fabrics. Gildor stopped at a small distance, and began to touch himself idly, his eyes never leaving Maedhros.

After several minutes of staring, Maedhros stepped forward until he was in front of Fingon.  “I can answer your question,” he said softly as he fastened the bell around Fingon’s throat. He gave it an experimental flick of his finger and it sang just as promised.  Then he gently cupped Fingon’s cheek, barely touching so he did not ruin the cosmetics (though, how could he in a dream), and said to him, “Neither. We are equals.”

“So we are, and ever shall be.”  Fingon snapped his fingers, and the single throne became two.  He took the hand Maedhros offered him, and allowed himself to be led to one of the seats.  Maedhros continued on, walking behind the thrones, and emerging around the side, with his tunic back on, only this time with loose, matching pants and a crown on his head.  “What about mine?” pouted Fingon.

“So demanding,” Maedhros teased, but he reached up, pulled down a handful of stars from the heavens, and arranged them in Fingon’s hair.  “Better?”

Fingon pressed his lips together and leaned close to Maedhros. “Purrrfect,” he said, and received a groan in return.  Then Fingon looked at the others and said, “Do not let us impede your fun.”

Glorfindel reached out with a golden paw and slapped it down on one of Erestor’s ribbons, inching his way along it in a refusal to release his captured prey. Some ruffling happened underneath all the veils, and then the spectral wisps of cloth came to Gildor and enfolded him into their midst. Laughter and groans that sounded quite a lot like Gildor’s issued from the undulating mass of fabric.

Fingon looked away from the shenanigans before them to address Maedhros.  “You hesitated,” he remarked.

Maedhros’ gaze lingered on Gildor, though he did eventually look at Fingon.  “I realized I am not ready yet, and, if it happens, I do not want it to be a dream.”  

“If.”  Fingon fingered the bell, rolling it between his fingertips.  He swallowed hard and looked away. 

“We need to...consider that reality,” Maedhros said softly.  “I have my husband. You have yours. It may just be that this is our fate.”

Fingon slumped a little in his throne as the others, oblivious, continued to play.  He rubbed at the bell a moment more, and then untied it from his neck, stood up, tossed it onto his seat, and walked away.

Almost immediately, the playful trio stopped.  They looked at Maedhros, who glanced uneasily at the empty chair.  Very faintly, they could hear Fingon’s retreat. 

“This is...awkward,” Gildor declared, unsure whether to stay where he was or to go to Maedhros.

Then, there was a faster sound, approaching swiftly, and Fingon reappeared.  Gone was his previous persona, replaced with light armor, quiver, and bow. He marched up to Maedhros and slammed a fist down on the arm of the throne.  “No,” he said forcefully. “It will not be if, it will be when. Even if I have to wait a thousand years, I know what we are meant to be. Something within me is calling for you, and it will not be silenced until we have reforged what was broken.”

Slowly, Maedhros looked up and stared back at the golden eyes boring into him.  “That is what I needed to hear,” he said, and he lunged--and now, it was he who was feline, and Fingon, surprised, hit the ground with the great lion pinning him down.

“Glorfindel,” Gildor whispered. “Please?”

The blond nodded. “Erestor?” 

“Only if you reveal me,” came the answer. 

Reaching into the folds, one by one Glorfindel removed the veils, bestowing a kiss on the rosy lips after each one. “For me,” he groaned after some of them, until the fine form of Erestor was fully exposed. “You understand what I want?” 

Erestor nodded. “Here it is okay. Here I know it is safe for both of us.”

“Thank you, my beauty,” Glorfindel breathed, gratified. Kneeling down behind Gildor, who was taking up the same position, Glorfindel wiggled his behind, stretching his tail high into the air, prancing in invitation. Smoothly, Erestor entered his body, leaving Glorfindel to shudder with pleasure. “Be gentle.”

“I know, Fin. I will. I promise.” Sensuously, Erestor rolled his hips, gasping at the new sensations. Textured moist heat enveloped him, gripping his length. “Oh, Fin…” 

Now Glorfindel came up against Gildor. Roughly, he grabbed the blond hair. “Enjoy the show,” he whispered, biting at Gildor’s back. He pushed himself into the cleft where he would repeatedly tease, never entering. Each stroke built Gildor’s desire for the sight before him. “Mmmmmmmmmaaaae Maeeee, doooo something,” be begged. “You are gorgeous, lover.”

Vaguely aware that there were expectations, Maedhros morphed back into his usual self.  Still, he kept Fingon’s wrists captured, held to the floor. “Anywhere. Anyway. I am answering your call.  You have summoned me now; command me.”

Fingon closed his eyes.  When he opened them, there was a giant pine tree looming above them.  Both he and Maedhros seemed younger--youthful, though obviously not children.  “I said no to you here once.”

“You were not ready,” recognized Maedhros.  “Neither was I, truth be told.”

“I am now,” Fingon answered with pure honesty.

“Tell me fully what you desire,” Maedhros demanded as he kissed along Fingon’s jaw, carefully avoiding his sensitive ears.

Though his arms were pinned, his legs were not, and Fingon eased them apart to give Maedhros space.  “I want to feel you again, as I did in those last days of my first life, but this time we will know better.”

“Indeed, we shall,” Maedhros murmured as he leaned down and ever so slowly pressed his lips against those of Fingon.  “May I?” he asked a moment later. Fingon nodded, and Maedhros waved his hand over Fingon’s form. Clothing vanished, and what was displayed was the formulation of Fingon’s thoughts--his ideal self-perception.  An elf, yes, but there was no dominance of masculine or feminine. Even what represented genitalia was indeterminate, for there was something yet nothing, malleable as Maedhros found out upon experimentally touching.

“Go ahead,” Fingon said shyly as Maedhros drew back, not in horror or fear, but thinking he might have gone too far.  Fingon emphasized this by guiding Maedhros’ hand down between his legs.

Maedhros discovered that whatever it was, it was pliable, both able to be rubbed and touched, and, as he experimented further, accepting of his fingers as he pressed within.  “Interesting,” remarked Maedhros.

“I was worried it would disgu...uhhhnnn…”

“Sorry; I did not catch that,” murmured Maedhros.  “You have to tell me if you like this or not.”

“Mmm, I like it very mu---uuhnn! Yes!  Please!” Fingon begged as he arched upwards.

Maedhros leaned down and nipped at Fingon’s ear, which caused Fingon to twist and mewl.  “Lover, I do not know what to do next,” he admitted after several minutes of sweet agony.

With his chest heaving, Fingon reached up and cupped Maedhros’ cheek.  “We are all so attached to the physical form that we cannot see it is not the physical act that binds us.”  Before them all, the form of Fingon dissolved and gave way to a brilliant blue light from which misty glowing tendrils branched off.  There was a sparkle throughout the colored light, and Maedhros tentatively reached his hand within. The light glowed brighter and Maedhros gasped.

“Join me,” requested Fingon’s voice.

Maedhros withdrew his hand, and then, he, too, became like Fingon--though, the appearance of his fëa was different.  He was not as bright, and red and flickering, like flames. Two spirits, close yet apart, until a wisp of red swirled out against the blue.  A spark, like a flash of lightning, emanated from the blue. From tentative beginnings, they seemed to explore more boldly, a dance of caressing light, mingling, not unlike the blending of the light from the two trees in days of old.  As blue and red spun together, it became hard to know just where one started and the other ended, until a blinding light flashed, and all that remained was a violet glow, pulsing, hovering above the ground, a calm energy rippling through.

Gildor had stopped pleasuring himself, hopelessly distracted. A tear spilled from one eye, for such was the beauty transfixing his thought and consciousness. An entire book could not have explained the connection between his husband and Fingon better than the images he witnessed. Erestor and Glorfindel still loved each other, but with a languor meant to draw out their time together indefinitely. The sight of Gildor alone felt inharmonious, so they moved to where they could touch him soothingly...and otherwise. Erestor, still buried in Glorfindel’s female parts, desired to bestow on Gildor a pleasure the blond often gave but rarely received. Glorfindel kissed and nipped at Gildor’s neck and chest. As they exchanged intimacies, the violet moved toward them. At first it seemed to only be a tint of color hazing their vision, yet the color slowly intensified. Soon, the violet filled the air they breathed; the energy that flowed around and between the three of them.

It was now that something caught Gildor’s eye, and he moved his hand around Glorfindel’s form without touching him.  “I see now,” he said in awe. “Your radiance. Somehow, your spirit...that is what we are seeing when you ‘glow’.” 

As if to confirm Gildor’s theory, a tendril of blue light emerged from the ever darkening purple haze and traced the path Gildor’s hand had moved.  In the wake of blue and gold rippled a vibration of green. It tickled Glorfindel and made him laugh. “I could get used to that,” he purred.

“We are all colors?” Erestor asked wistfully, now taking better notice of what Gildor identified. He used his fingers to flutter at the edge of Glorfindel’s effulgence. “Does this feel good?” Then after a pause and far more tentatively, “Do I have a color?” Deep within, a fear seized him that they would see only black.

Suddenly, all five were no longer engaged in their intimate activities.  They were instead sitting at tiny tables, for they were all as they were as children--with the exception that the kitten ears and tail had returned for Fingon.  They all looked around at each other, dressed in white, until someone cleared their throat.

“Lesson eighteen.  Fëaquilëva.” Irmo was standing at a slate board, dressed in scholar robes and holding a ruler, which he used to point to various gibberish writings on the board.  “Once a well-known and highly accepted form of identification, now thought of as little more than a mysticism. Those who claim they are able to see the auras created by one’s spirit are not always believed; in cases of those whose spirits are very strong or not easily contained, these colors might be seen on a more regular basis.  The colors can change over time, and can be a combination of the three basic colors--red, indigo, and gold.” As he named the three colors, a faint glow came about Maedhros, Fingon, and Glorfindel, and their white clothing now turned red, blue, and yellow. 

“Those who are a combination of colors will reflect that.  It is possible to be a combination of any two of the primaries, such as indigo and gold,” Irmo said, and Gildor now looked down to see he was wearing green.  “Or, gold and red.” Erestor now sighed in relief to see that he wore orange and was enjoying a similar colored glow of light. “Or even red and indigo. And then, there are those who are combined of all three colors, and they glow the brightest,” Irmo said, and now he was the one wearing white.

“Thank you,” said a very grateful Erestor, already dreaming of the orange flowers he wished to plant next summer. No, not only orange. All of these, for he would never forget this moment which felt as real to him as the day of his marriages. He held his hand over the heart and drew his head covering around him, which had re-appeared according to his wish. He felt so very happy, knowing that he was orange. Orange, blue and yellow. Blue flowers were the rarest, compared to the relatively common orange and yellow, which made them difficult to procure but not impossible. Nothing was impossible when done with love; he believed this now. 

To his great delight, all those seated now were in the midst of his floral fantasy. Fingon, regal, wore a crown of blue gerberas and delphiniums. Freesias and centaurea in slightly lighter shades intermixed with statice, while anemones swayed gently and from his ears dangled grape hyacinths. Erestor clapped his hands in delight. Gildor attracted his attention next. Exotic mullein, orchids and chrysanthemum in their natural shades of green. Bells of Valimar bedecked his chest, their delicate bowls turned outward. In his hands he held a scepter of gladioli and and an orb of green zinnia and could have been in that moment a child of Nessa. 

Greedily his eyes shifted over to Maedhros, the sight of whom elicited an involuntary gasp. Rose petals in bright scarlet to deepest red rained down from above--there was too much complexity to easily follow. The dahlias, azalea, poppies were easier to identify, as were the torches of red-orange celosia sprouting at his shoulders. Carnation, lily, aster...Erestor stared at the asters, fixated on their many concentric petals and yellow centers. While he watched, the centers pulsed and grew, and moved toward the ellon who had drawn the borders of his life--Glorfindel. The sea-green eyes lifted to watch him as thousands of delicate celandine swirled around his golden husband. No other flower, no other shade of gold--only celandine. “My golden flower,” burst from Erestor’s lips when Glorfindel offered his embrace.

For a fleeting moment, Erestor understood everything--their present, and their future--and then it was gone. In his open palm he held one each of celandine, forget-me-not, red dianthus, and a single green oncidium blossom. “I wish I could remember,” he said mournfully to all of them, but instead they smiled and closed a circle around him. 

“It does not matter, cupcake,” Fingon told his husband. “You will find it again in time.”

Abruptly, Irmo clapped his hands twice.  “That is all for today. Class dismissed!”

They were all suddenly back where they were, back to their adult selves again.  Glorfindel, Erestor, and Gildor, all woven together, and Maedhros and Fingon beneath the tree.  The individual glows faded, with the exception of the violet light that seemed to sparkle around Maedhros and Fingon as a sort of afterglow.  As Maedhros hovered over Fingon, he frowned. “Something is wrong,” fretted Fingon as he saw the expression.

“Just feels like...something missing.”  Maedhros tried to shake it over, but then, looked to where the thrones were still proudly displayed nearby.  “A moment.” He scrambled up to his feet and hurried to the throne where Fingon had sat. Triumphantly, he grabbed up what he found there and brought it back.  “I have no marriage ring to give you, but then, rings in my family seem to lead to trouble sometimes. I hope this will suffice,” he said as he held up the bell, spinning back and forth as it dangled between them.

“Seems an odd choice,” said Fingon.

“We were always an odd pair,” Maedhros answered.

Once again, Fingon gathered up his hair so that it did not hinder Maedhros as he fastened the necklace around Fingon’s throat.  Once in place, Maedhros flicked it with his finger, and it brightly filled the air.

Gildor looked on, a little envious. “I kind of want one of those. But with emeralds,” he pouted.

“Is that the going color for flamboyant peacock wildcats?” Glorfindel purred. “Why not all the colors?”

“Emeralds for today, maybe gold and diamonds tomorrow,” Gildor suggested.

Maedhros settled down beside Fingon, who nuzzled against Maedhros’ shoulder.  “You can have one for each day of the week. Each day of the month, if you like.”

Erestor observed the five of them for a time then frowned. All before him initially had appeared well until more careful examination revealed that it was not. His eyes dropped down to view his body, buried inside of Glorfindel’s. And Glorfindel’s body, gratifying Gildor’s. Gildor watched Maedhros and Fingon tending each other and in the place of peace a space filled with yearning for his lover. No, this would not do. Still his body undulated with the motions of lovemaking, but his spirit cried out in prayer. In thought all of them elongated, the three moving nearer to the two. Their forms shifted, re-oriented, and for a moment the five of them together called to mind the image of a hand. Each finger folded in turn, curling, while the thumb that was Fingon closed over all the rest.

The dark brow still furrowed, unsatisfied. No. They were five, but not in this shape. Imagination refreshed within him, and each elf became feline. Felines sporting elegant tails and tips that flicked and curled. Hues differentiated, becoming distinct on each one; silver, rusty, golden, cream, jet black. Gliding further, each tail snaked to touch at a common center; the spokes of a wheel. A slow rotation initiated, the forms morphed to kaleidoscopic stars while colors shifted. No longer cats, no longer elves, no longer anything but all, each thrummed to take shape as five rays of light. The spectrum filled in the spaces between; yellow, red, green, blue, violet. Equal, gaining speed in rotation, and swelling in intensity. None in excess of another, each vital to the whole. Blending. Expanding. Afterward Erestor would not be able to explain the nature of his prayer, except to say that he felt bathed in a vision of his Grandfather’s light. 

The effulgence burst, piercing five elves with ecstasy and ending the dream. Vision clouded by swirling grays created a rallentando of receding shape and sound, leaving each participant to writhe in fading pleasure. 

###  Late Afternoon - Day 24

Far away, Erestor blinked, reluctant to exit but knowing he must. A dazzling smile graced his face. In curiosity, his hand snaked through his clothing to feel himself. His manhood was limp, but the cloth he had placed around himself--just in case--held an emission still warm from his body. Erestor withdrew the soiled item, folded it more times, and buried the article deep into his satchel. It would be washed--later. Stretching, he yawned and rose, tidying the pillows and restoring the office to order.

Back at the cottage, it was Maedhros who woke first.  He stretched and yawned and rubbed his hands over his eyelids--

He lifted his arms and opened his eyes.  Slowly, he turned both wrists back and forth again and let out a noise that sounded like a gasp and a sob twisted together.  This alerted both Gildor and Fingon, who stirred while Glorfindel rolled over and snuggled closer to his companions. “Gildor.  Gildor. Gildor!”

“What?”

“Gildor!”

“What, love?”

“Look!”  Maedhros scrambled to straddle Gildor and took hold of Gildor’s face in his hands.  “Look!”

Gildor’s eyes widened, further and further, and all he managed was, “Mae Mae,” before he grabbed hold of his husband’s hands with his own and alternated kisses between the left and right hand.

Fingon lifted a trembling hand to cover his mouth.  As the scene unfolded before him, he reached out to grasp for Glorfindel, who had just stirred. 

“Come here, Sweetie,” Glorfindel whispered, his heart swelling at the sight. At that moment he was thanking Eru, with nods to whichever of the Valar might have had a hand in this--no pun was intended anywhere in his thought. He reflected as he held his shaking husband, that there were few gifts more meaningful than the healing of an afflicted one. However this had happened, it had been a great mercy.

“Get up,” Maedhros said suddenly, and he pulled Gildor to his feet with him.  He found an empty space in the room, and then without warning, picked up Gildor at the waist and spun him around.  “You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that,” he said as he set Gildor back onto his feet. The two embraced, and Fingon suddenly relaxed, the ages of anxiety, grief, and helplessness drifting away.

_ I am happy for Mae,  _ Glorfindel told his husband.  _ But I am joyful for you. I love you, Findekáno. With all my heart.  _

“Elrond!  We must show Elrond!”  Gildor grabbed hold of Maedhros by the right hand, and the pair went running from the room to seek out Maedhros’ adopted son.

In the room, Fingon held Glorfindel tightly.  “Finally...over…” he said, sounding exhausted before he drifted back to sleep.

“Rest well, my husband,” Glorfindel whispered. “I will watch over you. May Eru bless your heart with peace, which has suffered so much.”

**

Getting an appointment with the headmaster on the same day as one’s request was nearly impossible--unless, of course, you were a professor emeritus with strong connections to the research community and stayed on to work in the library at a salary well below the expectations of others in the position.  Erestor simply walked into the administrative offices, greeted everyone there, and was ushered into the headmaster’s office with a good day and a smile.

“To what do I owe such an honor?” asked the headmaster as Erestor arranged himself on the chair so as not to disrupt the scarf on his head.  He had fussed over his appearance for more than ten minutes after his shift until the interns declared he was fine to begin with and sent him on his way.  

Erestor folded his hands on his lap.  In negotiations, he had many personalities he could call upon.  There was the soldier, ready for battle at any moment, sparring with words.  There was the counselor, drawing out the discussion with logic and offering many versions of what was essentially the same outcome for his side.  There was also the friend, the tactic of dropping the line ‘I only want what’s best for all of us--we have the same goals in mind’ into the conversation--that was a favorite of his when dealing with Thranduil.  There were others, too, but today he was a man of faith--solemn, quiet, and passive.

He often wondered if things in Gondolin would have been different if he had known how to channel this in those middle years of the First Age.

“There is a matter I would like to discuss with you, and I apologize for my short notice in speaking with you.”  He spoke softly and looked up from his hands only at the end of sentences. “I have a colleague who is--”

“Fingon.”

Erestor pressed his lips together.  So much for his introduction. He nodded.  “He is eligible for a period of leave, which he has informed no one about.”

“Why does he not come to me and request it himself?” asked the headmaster.

“Fingon, as you know, is a deeply private and intensely secretive man.  There is a clause in the contracts that allows for an extended paid leave upon marriage, due of course to the serious nature of the eternal commitment of matrimony.”

“Marriages are usually announced at one of the courthouses and posted at the communal gathering places.  I think I would have remembered such a bulletin,” said the headmaster.

“That, again, is because of his secretive nature.  What if I could prove it to you?” offered Erestor.

“How would you do that?”

Erestor reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope.  “I know your time is precious, but if you come to the location found within tomorrow at the time listed, you will have your proof.  This I promise.”

The headmaster opened the envelope and read what he found within.  Slowly, he nodded. “I will be there, and if I see proof, he will have this leave granted to him for two months.”

“Three months.”  Erestor held his breath a moment.  Both he and the headmaster studied each other.  “Please?” While he never would have done it in any other professional negotiation, Erestor widened his eyes and made the saddest face possible.

The headmaster relented.  “Alright. Three months.”

“Oh, thank you,” Erestor said with great relief.  “You see, he is also recovering from a surgical procedure, and he came in to work the day after and it exhausted him and made things worse and--”

“The day after surgery?”

“The morning after, really.  It was an emergency, performed the previous evening.”  Erestor realized Fingon might whimper and cringe later to find that his secrets had been shared, but Erestor was prepared for a few minutes of pouting in exchange for the headmaster’s sympathy.  “An infection was attacking his jaw, so he needed to have part of it removed--which was not as difficult as it sounds because the bone was soft tissue, so--”

“Erestor, can you please let him know that he should recover before he returns?  Why would he do that?” wondered the headmaster out loud.

The opportunity might never present itself again, so Erestor went all in.  “He worries about the finances. You see, we live in a...a sort of commune,” Erestor decided.  “Among us, we have a painter, and of course we both know how fickle it is to sell art, and myself, a part-time librarian and full-time farmer, which of course puts food on the table, but what I grow does not have great monetary value at market.  There is a roper, but since we do not have the ability to grow the materials he needs, the profit margin is low. Then, there is a merchant, but of course, he needs things to sell, and relies on the rest of us. Fingon knows that his contribution is the one that keeps us afloat, and he takes that responsibility seriously.”

The headmaster tapped a finger on the desk.  “So he is the head of the household, and does not have reserves to rely on.  I had a different perception when he was hired. Quennar told me he owned a significant amount of land and a theatre, and was one of the wealthiest people on this island.”

“That may have been true at one time, but he used a substantial amount of his savings to renovate the Cottage of Lost Play, and, suffice to say, his liquid assets are drained.”  Erestor gave it a moment, and then said, “He recently cut his hair in exchange for money.”

The headmaster closed his eyes and shook his head.  “The pride of Kings.”

“Malgalad, I know you understand how hard it is for him to show need or weakness when he most needs the aid of others.  He seems to think he is at risk of being fired every single day of the week.”

Amdir leaned back in his chair.  “I wonder when he last requested a raise.”  Amdir lifted a bell from the desk and rang it.  His assistant rushed into the room. “Can you retrieve my file on Findekáno?” The assistant nodded and was back in less than a minute with a blue folder.  Amdir flipped it open and began to look at the sheets from the back to the front. The wrinkle at his brow increased as he went along. “Is this all of it?” he asked his assistant, and received a nod.  “Thank you.” Amdir waited until the door was closed again. “There have been some basic increases over the years he has been here, but...alright. I need to look this over, apparently, before…” He looked back at the information Erestor had given him.  “...nightfall tomorrow.”

“Thank you so much,” Erestor said as he stood.  “I appreciate this greatly.”

“Erestor?  As long as you are here, may I have a moment of time with you?” Amdir waited until Erestor sat down again.  “I received the resignation of the Dean of Faith Studies two days ago. I was hoping that you might consider taking the position in the interim, though it would please me greatly if you would accept the position full-time. I know that this would take you away from your agricultural pursuits, but I also know you are the most qualified person on staff.  If you need a few days to consider it--”

“Yes.  I mean, yes, I accept.”  Erestor bit at his lip, and then asked, “It...it would be at a higher salary, I imagine?”

“Substantially.  In fact, higher than what Fingon is making,” Amdir said after he checked the file again.  “I will bring the contract with me tomorrow for you to sign. And Erestor, in the future, please come to me sooner.  And let Fingon know he should do the same,” he added as Erestor stood a second time. “I know he is your friend, and will likely listen to you.”

Erestor paused at the doorway, his back to the headmaster.  He licked his lips, then turned and said, “He is more than my friend.  He is my husband.”

Amdir’s eyes widened.  “Oh...uhm…”

“All will be explained tomorrow,” promised Erestor.  “And thank you for this opportunity. I am excited for this new chapter in life.”

“Do you librarians purposely come up with book puns, or does it come naturally?” Amdir playfully mused.

Erestor went back over his words in his head and smiled mysteriously as he left the office.

###  Early Evening - Day 24

Erestor arrived home to find Asfaloth at the door to greet him.  “Welcome, welcome home! You have arrived just in time! The Marvelous Magnificent Maedhros is about to perform his latest Magic Extravaganza!” announced Asfaloth with flourish.  

“I did not know Maedhros was a magician.”  

“Oh, but he is!  He is! Come on! Come on!  The show is about to start!” Asfaloth excitedly shoved Erestor into the house, neglecting the door for a moment before he kicked it shut and continued to push Erestor into the great room.  In one corner, where there was a mostly ignored platform, all the expectations of a magic show could be seen. There was a large box and a saw from the shed that worried Erestor a little, and a red curtain fashioned from a bedsheet as the backdrop.  A deck of cards, a pitcher of water and a glass, and a lock with some chains. Erestor took a seat beside Glorfindel. Next to Glorfindel, Fingon was resting on one of the sofas, clearly permitted to join them on account of good behavior, Erestor assumed.  

Elrond and Celebrian were also sitting in the room, and Asfaloth joined them on the floor where Dog Dog was sitting and wagging his tail. Only Gildor and the man of the hour were absent, but Gildor came strutting in after a few moments.  Dressed in an array of sparkling garments, including one of the corsets he found in the spare bedroom, he also had an arrangement of brightly colored feathers in his hair, which was piled upon his head and curled down. “What do you think?” he asked as he twirled around.  “I saw a woman in Bree like this once.”

“I should have told you where to find my cosmetics,” said Fingon.

“Ah, shucks,” Gildor exclaimed.  “Next time!” he said as he pointed at Fingon, and then he clapped his hands, adorned with long silken gloves, twice.  “The entertainment you have all been waiting for! The marvelous! The mystical! The mysterious! The magnificent… Maedhros!”  Gildor clapped excitedly as Maedhros came around from behind the red curtain. He was wearing black leggings and black boots, and a loose white shirt.  His hair was pulled back, and he lifted his left hand to wave, his other arm concealed by the fabric of his shirt.

“Tis I, the Magnificent Maedhros, here to entertain you with this, my magical powers,” he said as he motioned to the items on the table with his left hand.  “Nothing up my sleeve...oh, wait, there is!” he announced as he rolled his right sleeve up to reveal his once missing hand.

The shriek of happiness that Erestor let out caused Dog Dog to start barking and Asfaloth instinctively covered his ears.  “Sorry!” Erestor apologized as he gripped Glorfindel’s arm with both of his hands. “Please tell me this is real and I did not fall asleep in the office again or in the carriage or something.”

Gildor sashayed over, reached out, and pinched Erestor.  This caused Erestor to yelp, not entirely unlike the noise he had previously made.  “Definitely awake, dear,” said Gildor as he leaned down and kissed the mark he had made on Erestor’s arm.

“For my first trick… I shall shuffle these cards!” Maedhros picked up the worn deck that Gildor traveled with and demonstrated both basic and fancy card shuffling.  Everyone in the room applauded for him.

Erestor’s eyes streamed tears of joy. The sum of the day’s positive outcomes balled up in his mind to overwhelm him, not that he minded. He would gladly weep every day, with such wonderful events as the cause. Gildor plopped next to Erestor, not being strictly needed until his presence was required as an assistant. One of the feathers was long enough to brush away a few of the tears, which was fine until it tickled his nose and caused Erestor to sneeze. Everyone, including Maedhros, looked at the pair of them.

“Oops!” Gildor grinned. “Sorry.” Glorfindel rolled his eyes but took better notice of Erestor and hugged him close. Right now he felt like he had everything in the world, especially when Asfaloth stood behind the sofa and placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Oh, come on, that was a great trick!” Maedhros said in an attempt to lighten the mood.  “Alright, alright, for my next trick, I shall...pour this glass of water without assistance of the table,” he declared, tipping the pitcher to fill the glass half full.  “But wait! There is more!” Maedhros began to drink the glass of water with one hand, and used the other to snap his fingers. Again, Gildor offered loud applause as the others joined in.  “And now, I shall need my trusty assistant.”

“Oh!  That is my cue!”  Gildor squished Erestor in a hug once more before leaping onto the stage.  He waved his arms up, down, and around at Maedhros before standing triumphantly beside him.  “What marvelous feat do you have in store for us, O Magnificent Maedhros?”

Maedhros rolled up his sleeves further.  “One that requires assistance of a charming and beautiful companion.  The Glorious Glamorous Gildor, everyone!” Gildor bowed several times and curtseyed once as well.  “We shall perform a trick requiring such great stamina and fortitude it is not often seen on such stages.  Are you ready, Gildor the Glamorous?”

“Always!”  And Gildor and Maedhros faced one another and began to play the child’s game of ‘patty cake’ complete with song that Asfaloth happily sang along to as well while everyone else nearly fell off their seats in ridiculous bliss.

Erestor laughed like Glorfindel had never heard. Or Fingon. Both craned their necks through their own amusement to watch the often quiet and usually reserved darkling. Cheeks flushed rosy with laughter, teeth framed by smiling red lips, eyes bright with mirth. The sight launched a chill from Glorfindel’s scalp down to his toes. Immediately, he seared the image into his memory--an unforgettable blaze of light. A squeeze from Fingon’s hand distracted him to turn his head; he saw the same awe inscribed in the regal face. In a split second Glorfindel decided the best course was to keep from Erestor that he was stealing the show. “We want to see the trick where Gildor the Glamorous levitates!” he exclaimed. Behind him, Asfaloth made an indescribable noise somewhere between a snort and a neigh, and clicked his knuckles together repeatedly. “Yes! Yes!” the horse agreed in an excess of enthusiasm.

On what passed for a stage, Gildor the Glamorous looked extremely pleased and hopeful.

“It seems that someone has already seen this show before!  On to the finale!” Maedhros repositioned himself on stage, Gildor in front, and he placed his hands upon Gildor’s waist.  “Now, we all must say the magic words! Abracadabra Alakazam!” 

As the audience shouted the phrase back at Maedhros, he picked up Gildor, who tucked his legs up and spread his arms out above him.  “Magic!” declared Maedhros, and he once again received a massive round of applause.

###  Late Evening - Day 24

Supper was eaten in the same room as the performance, with much merriment and laughter, even from Fingon.  Despite his sleepiness, he still managed to joke along with the others as he ate split pea soup and mashed sweet potatoes.  When he finished with the meal, Elrond suggested rest, and Fingon did not argue. Glorfindel began to go to him, but Maedhros reached Fingon first.  

“If it is alright, would you please allow me this evening?” asked Maedhros.

Fingon reached out to squeeze Glorfindel’s hand.  “How can I say no to such a helpful request?” They kissed and said good night, and Erestor followed suit, and the others all offered sweet dreams and pleasant rest before Maedhros very carefully lifted Fingon in his arms and carried him out of the room.

“Tomorrow is the big day, for you and Mae,” Glorfindel smiled at Gildor. “If it was going to be special already, it is really special now.”

“I know,” Gildor smiled at all of them. “You have no idea how happy I am to have a hundred things to do between now and the big event.” His voice lilted in an almost giddy manner. “It may be the only way I do not float right out of the house and off to the stars.”

“I have even more good news to add to this day, but I wanted to keep it a surprise.” Erestor pointed up the stairs at the direction the pair had gone. “You know.”

“Oh?” Glorfindel sidled closer to him. “Do tell.”

“Well, it is actually four different things,” Erestor began, unable to suppress his smile.

Elrond chuckled. “The more things change, the more they stay the same, Counselor Erestor.”

“Well, actually, it is Dean Erestor now,” he said in hushed words that could not possibly make their way up the stairs. “I accepted a new position that will have higher income than Fingon’s.”

Gildor emitted a low whistle. “Wow. Extremely well done, Erri.”

“What is that going to do to your farming?” Glorfindel asked, realizing that this was not all it appeared to be. “I mean...yes I am thrilled for you and I know we need the income but...your happiness means more to me…”

“Yes I am being a busybody,” Celebrían cut in, “but should we not hear the totality of what happened before fretting about potential issues?”

Sighing, Glorfindel nodded. “I am sorry, Ress. That was ill-spoken of me. Please continue on and forgive your foolish husband.”

“Not foolish,” Erestor took Glorfindel’s hand and kissed it. “I know what I have cost our family, Fin. I also know why you worry. There is nothing to forgive. Maybe once you hear that it is the Dean of Faith Studies? This is not just about earning money. I...need this. I know we can figure out the farming. I have a good feeling about this position, which is why I accepted immediately rather than discussing it with everyone first.”

“Me too! Me too!” Asfaloth clapped excitedly. 

Elrond rose to offer a warm embrace. “I just want to congratulate you, my old friend. I think this is a fine development.”

Celebrían simply looked smug.

“Okay, okay, you were right!” Glorfindel chuckled, restored to happiness as he threw a wadded napkin at her. Without hesitation, she returned the missile, catching it expertly and aiming it at his head.

“Napkin fight!” Asfaloth blurted excitedly.

“No! No napkin fight!” Gildor insisted, placing himself between the two parties. “Erri said there are three other things and I only know one! Can you not see the seriousness of the situation?!” While he waved his arms around, one of the feathers fell out of his hair and floated to the ground. The other four burst into renewed laughter at the sight.

“Then without delay, Dean Erestor, please, continue,” encouraged Elrond.  “Before Gildor loses all of his feathers.”

More laughter, and Gildor took a bow. Erestor smiled and held up his hand. His index finger raised as he spoke: “I think someone--” he pointed upstairs-- “is going to get a raise because the headmaster is reviewing his file. Someone also--” his second finger lifted to join the first-- “was granted a long-overdue marital leave because I confessed to the headmaster that I am not merely Fingon’s coworker. Additionally, I traitorously explained assorted realities of life under this roof, including a certain recovery from surgery, so that there are no more fears about being fired. Lastly--”

  
“Wait,” Gildor protested, for he had been keeping count. “That was already four.”

“No, the last thing mentioned was a corollary to number three,” Erestor corrected, completely serious. Glorfindel held his head with his hands, shaking with laughter.

To that, Gildor had no reply except an expression of vague astonishment.

“Last,” Erestor grinned, “I invited the headmaster to the ceremony tomorrow. I felt he more than deserved the trust of a greater awareness of our family. We were collectively shown great favor and generosity.”

“I will try to be on something resembling my best behavior,” Gildor promised, still struggling to digest all that.

“Should I also be on my best behavior?” asked Asfaloth.

“There is a wedding tomorrow--you most certainly should be,” Celebrian said.

Everyone sat for a few moments, basking in the peace of the house.  Abruptly, Glorfindel turned to Gildor. “There is a wedding tomorrow.”

“Mmhm--oh, fuckityfuckfuck, we still have so much to do!”  Gildor led the charge in the remainder of the preparations.

Upstairs, Maedhros took his time saying good night to Fingon after tucking him in.  “I have a favor to ask of you,” Maedhros said as he made sure he had the blankets snuggly around Fingon.

“What is that?” Fingon asked. 

“There is something I would like to learn to do, but I was a little--well, it was fine for Maglor, but whenever I would bring it up--”

“You want me to teach you to play harp?” Fingon guessed.

Maedhros blushed a little.  “I mean, it just seems, as an Elf, I should be able to play harp or flute or something.”

“Consider it done.  It would be my pleasure,” said Fingon.  He rubbed his finger along the seam of the pillowcase and then said, “So...about earlier...earlier today, in the dream...about all that…”  Fingon trailed off and grew silent.

“It was one of the more exquisite experiences of my life,” Maedhros intoned solemnly. “Beautiful, and deeply moving. And now I will be making you a bell, not only in a dream.” 

Fingon turned his head and smiled--no, grinned.  “Really? A pretty blue one?” 

“Really.”  Maedhros held up his restored hand. “There is so much I wish to do for you. But that may not be what you wanted to say to me?” With both hands Maedhros captured the stray finger, the better to kiss it.

“There is so much I want to say, and so little that I have.”  Fingon took a deep breath. “In the dream, when...when you suggested that we should stop or wait, and I...disagreed...I did that because... because I miss that so much.  I miss...I missed you.” He turned his head to the side, hand covering his mouth, eyes shut.  “I missed you so much, darling.” He flicked away the tears as he clutched the blanket in his other hand.  “I know I told you only a few days ago that you should stay for Gildor’s sake, but I realize, selfishly perhaps, it is for my sake as well.”  Then he moved his hand to cover his eyes and set the jar down so that it did not drop from his hand.

“Oh Finya, sweetheart...of course it is for your sake as well. When are you going to get it through your head that I love you? Do you think our intimacies of late are some dalliance for my sexual amusement? I take what has rekindled between us far more seriously than that. How can you be selfish concerning having missed me, when I willingly admit that my heart belongs to you once again?” Maedhros moved closer to embrace Fingon, and offer comfort. “I love you, and no man of worth shuns a chance like this.”

  
  
  


“I know you love me,” confirmed Fingon as he held tightly to Maedhros.  “And I am...in love with loving you, if that makes sense. I just...I know that Gildor has said that he approves, and my husbands have, I try not to feel guilt--but sometimes I still do.  I do not...I do not want to be more to you than he is, and I do not even feel as if I deserve to be equal.” He held on even tighter, nuzzling against Maedhros’ chest and trying once again not to feel guilty.  “ I just...I do not want to compromise what you and Gildor have.  For a long while, I thought you were different in a better way because you were not with me, and I realize it is that you are different in a better way because of him.  We have always had a connection, but what you have with Gildor is…” Fingon managed to get his hands up from under the blankets and fit his fingers together, sealing his hands.  “You just...you fit. I am blessed to have you back in my life in this way, but...it means more to me to see you and Gildor happy than...I just have to know that I am not going to intrude or...or something.”

“My heart is not a pie, that is consumed in sections,” Maedhros said, rocking Fingon gently. “I love Gildor and he loves me, and that does not preclude the other. Do you fret about loving Erestor more than Glorfindel? Or worry which one of them loves you more in return? You already know the answers to that. Our time to cement that aspect of our love will come. I fully believe it. You feel afraid, and that much I understand. I think you will know you are ready when the love in your heart tells all that worry and guilt to go fuck itself. There, you now have been the recipient of Maitimo’s relationship counseling. How am I doing?” He booped Fingon on the nose, smiling.

The smile returned to Fingon’s face as he wiped the rest of the tears away.  “You would not happen to do anxiety counseling, would you?”

“Not in a manner that would be considered decent by anyone outside the homosexual faction of this household, I am afraid.” A wolfish smile left little doubt as to the nature of his calming therapies.

Fingon’s smile held for a moment, but as it began to fade, he whispered, “I still think sometimes when I look at everyone, that I am just...extra and causing a disturbance.  You and Gildor...Erestor and Glorfindel...I am not saying this for pity or attention, but there are times I think you would all have done so much better without me here.”

Now Maedhros’ face fell, his lower lip and chin trembling a little. “Please do not run away from me. From us.” A little ashamed of the vulnerability he had just shown, he knuckled away a tear before it could fall. He inhaled deeply, seeking equilibrium before he spoke further. “What he and I have that you and I did not, if I may be blunt, is a raw honesty that I will credit with having saved my life the second time. Together with that is trust. Trust that whatever each of us tells the other, that it is spoken without games or coyness. I do not say this to insult you--or myself. I need you to understand. Gildor has told me that he welcomes you, but that he does feel a little insecurity. His greatest emphasis is that he wants this for me, for he and I, for you and I. I believe him, Finde, for that is how we are. Just as I believe Glorfindel and Erestor when they told me that they wanted the same. You are not the only one who has concerns about intruding.” He booped Fingon gently on the nose. “I would apologize for my display of emotion, except that it tells me my heart, which feels as though it will break again if you send me away. Please do not,” he asked, finally raising his eyes to meet Fingon’s.

Fingon shivered for a moment at the end of Maedhros’ speech.  Then, with the speed of a cobra, he was clinging to Maedhros. “It is I who fears to be sent away,” he whispered.  “I missed you,” he sobbed, his fingers digging in, tears seeping into the cloth at Maedhros’ shoulder. “I missed you.  I missed you. Please do not leave me again. I was so stupid. Please. Stay. Please.”

“Oh Finya,” Maedhros said, holding him tightly for the first time in ages with two hands, hardly able to believe how good it felt. “I swear to you, I would part with my hand again before I would do that to you. I...please do not be afraid. This is no passing whimsy.” He blinked, several times, his head spinning. “Look at me, Fin.” Slowly, Fingon released his grip enough to make this possible. “Please give me your hands.” Confused, Fingon complied with this as well. Maedhros took both of those hands in his own, and swallowed hard. “I want to...I want to enter betrothal with you, though I have no rings to offer. I ask for your hand in marriage,” he said, with a voice that tried hard not to quaver. “I love you, and I have no greater means by which to declare my sincerity. I wish to share my life and my heart with you, until the end of days.”

“I need no ring,” Fingon said softly.  “Just you, my dear Maitimo. Just you.”  Fingon kissed Maedhros’ hands several times.  “I love you so greatly… I am at such a loss for words.  Yes, Maitimo, eternally, yes.”

A brilliant smile appeared on Maedhros’ mien. “You fill my heart with joy, Fin. I hope I may be so bold as to ask for a good-nighty night kiss from my intended,” Maedhros sighed in bottomless relief, leaning down already in his assurance he would not be refused. Their lips met in the sweetest kiss imaginable, full of hope and happiness. “Sleep well, my love. I shall, for now I know I will be yours, and you will be mine.” With a last kiss to Fingon’s brow, he withdrew. His heart thundered in his chest as he descended the stairs, his mind in a whirl.

“Mae Mae?” Gildor asked, on seeing his husband’s expression.

“I asked Fingon to marry me, and he said yes,” Maedhros told the room. Glorfindel and Erestor, who may have been listening in, rose to hug the redhead--and give Gildor a few seconds to recover if he needed them. They need not have worried.

“Oh Mae Mae!” Gildor squeezed them all into his arms, while Celebrían winked at Elrond. 

  
  
  



	25. Day 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At 400K, we unlock another chapter, right? Surprise for everyone (including us), there's a chapter 26 being written.
> 
> Happens, darlings. Happens. Enjoy.
> 
> (And remember, you can always come chat with us on Discord - https://discord.gg/bVRH6Kk)

###  Morning - Day 25

  
  


Erestor was hastily wrapping his scarf over his head as he whispered last-minute instructions to Glorfindel.  “When Inarata and I return with the cake, I need you to make sure that the back door is unlocked. We are going to bring the layers in separately and then build it on-site, but I want to try to get it here before everyone else wakes up, so we might need some help putting it all together.  Oh! And the centerpieces need to be cleared from the table so that we can put the cake there. Also--”

“Sweetheart, you made me a list last night.”  Glorfindel stopped Erestor for a moment and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“I did?”

“It was late.  You even said you probably would not remember,” teased Glorfindel.  He kissed Erestor quietly and kept his voice down. “Go ahead. I am going to putter around in the kitchen and make sure everyone here eats before jumping into the final preparations.  Speaking of, there are muffins at the door for you and Inarata, because I know the two of you will not want to stop, but please, take a moment to eat when you get there.”

Erestor kissed Glorfindel’s nose.  “Thank you, darling.” Erestor walked to the door, picked up the satchel waiting for him, and opened the door. 

This was followed by slamming the door shut.

Glorfindel rushed out from the kitchen immediately.  “What happened? Who is there?” he demanded.  

“Fine way to say good morning!” shouted someone on the other side.

Erestor opened the door again.  “What are you doing here?” he hissed.

Fëanor narrowed his eyes.  “I was invited.” Behind him, Nerdanel was still sitting on a horse, but looked rather uncomfortable to be there.  

“Yes, I know.  I meant, at this time of day!”

“Just because the wedding is at nightfall does not mean I should have to sit down by the docks all day.  Besides, my wife is with child--you cannot really expect us to sightsee or windowshop or all of the other suggestions that Gildor put in the--”

“Fine, just, shush!” scolded Erestor.  “Tell Nerdanel she should come in.”

Glorfindel took over, sensing the urgency in Erestor’s voice.  “Go on, Erestor, you need to get that cake.” For emphasis, he gave Erestor an unseen pat on the rear, and then drew himself up to his full height before Fëanor, who was surprisingly, not as tall as he had recalled in his head.  He waited until Nerdanel and Fëanor were back at the door and Erestor was off down the road before he asked, “You know how to crack eggs without getting shells in the bowl, right?”

Fëanor gawked.  “Are you putting me to work?”

“You are here, and I could use an extra pair of hands.”  Glorfindel’s mouth twitched. Oh, what a surprise Fëanor would get when his eldest son came down for breakfast.

“And I want bacon and toast and fruit and sausages and pickles,” Nerdanel requested on her way past.  “Please.” She deposited herself on one of the sofas.

“Eating for two,” Glorfindel smiled conversationally. “The food may come out in stages but I think we can manage. The sausage may be the only trick; Fingon usually hunts for us but has been indisposed these last few days. And, I hope you can forgive Erestor his curtness. He has been working very hard on learning to cook and bake.” For the last few words, his voice dropped to a whisper, and he cast a nervous glance toward the stairs. “It is meant to be a great surprise, that he is making the cake.”

“Interesting.  Erestor poisoned me with cupcakes once.”

“Liar,” came Nerdanel’s voice from the next room.  “You took a bite from one, you knew there was something off about it, and then you still ate four of them.  You poisoned yourself, nitwit.”

“Love you, too, dear.  Show me to these eggs and bacon and whatever else we can make so she has something to chew on and keep her mouth busy,” grumbled Fëanor.

“I will help you,” Glorfindel frowned, wondering if the other six pregnancies had gone like this. “We found out that Erestor has no sense of smell or taste. That is why he could not cook. It was a cruel discovery but he is being taught to work around this with a science-based approach. So far it has done very well. Wait until you taste the potato salad,” the blond said smugly.

“I gladly welcome any potato salad that is not the famous Indis Potato Salad,” declared Fëanor.  He followed Glorfindel to the kitchen. “Most unfortunate about the smelling and tasting. So, I take it my boy is going to be here a while?”

“It would seem so,” Glorfindel answered. “We are very glad to have him. And Gildor. They have proven to be a great blessing. Without Maedhros knowing how to read Sarati, he would not have been able to help Erestor so much. This has been far more than just a visit, for those of us living under this roof.” The words were spoken quite casually while Glorfindel handed over the requested eggs and a bowl. Fëanor would take the bait, or not.

“Economically, it is sound.  That was something I learned from having so many children--specifically, boys.  Clothing gets handed down, costs the same to heat a house with one or five people in it--food is about the only thing that costs more, but with more hands, even that is easy enough when they are old enough to grow things or contribute to the household income.”  Fëanor carefully cracked each of the eggs, and made sure not to get a single shell into the bowl. 

Glorfindel’s mood toward their guest soured a bit, for apparently Fëanor’s concern for Erestor was not what he guessed, hoped, it might be. Well, he had tried. “It is true that we hope to work efficiently as an economic unit. I have already seen Gildor’s skill at salesmanship.” He paused. “Gildor could sell water to a fish.”

“Indeed, he could.  When he took over for the family, he increased the profit margin substantially.  It is a shame to lose him on the mainland, but Caranthir has agreed to resume that role.”  Fëanor looked around for other tasks to help with, and decided plates would eventually be needed, so began to line them up along the counter.  “I will most certainly miss having dinner with Gildor and Maedhros each week. Well, at times, it was just Maedhros--Gildor traveled a lot, you know.  Then again, Maedhros did, too, but he always made it back for the weekly dinner.”

“Family is important to him. But becoming healthier in mind and body is also a goal. Most under this roof are recovering from some kind of addiction and we are supporting each other to move in a better direction. I am in awe of what has happened here.”

Fëanor was quiet for a little while as he sliced bacon and started to cook it, knowing the limits his wife had before she would come questioning how long it would be.  The scent of bacon was an easy repellant. “Addictions, eh? So...what was Fingon’s addiction?”

“He has been taking what he believed to be a supplement that would aid athletes to achieve top performance goals, for that was how it was advertised to him. When Elrond came, he found that the stuff was rife with harmful substances that we are fortunate did not kill him. He is having one of the greatest challenges of his life, for he now has to stop being the kind of gymnast he has been. It has been very hard. To support him, Mae has sworn off alcohol.” Glorfindel felt almost compelled to find something that would penetrate what he interpreted as an amazing obtuseness on Fëanor’s part. At least, that was the only means by which he felt he could explain his freely wagging tongue to himself.

“No more gymnastics.  At all?”

“I think it will have to be limited--no more doing all the things an active competitor does. I am not a healer but my understanding of Elrond’s words is that Fingon cannot continue to jar his bones in the manner that has been occurring. Dismounts were something that was mentioned; the hard landings. Also the lack of the supplement he was taking will cause him to feel the effects of exercise more. He is going to have to change something that has defined much of his life.” Glorfindel did not look up at Fëanor, but continued steadily preparing breakfast foods for cooking.

“That is going to be a blow to him, especially with the new regulations set forth by the gymnastics committees.  I half expected him to return to the mainland to compete again. What a shame.” Fëanor washed his hands and set upon the fruit while the bacon cooked.

“What new regulations?” Glorfindel paled, and his voice hitched. “W-what do you mean?”

“He has been, forgive the expression, hounding them for uncountable years about the age restrictions, which were put into place for exactly what Elrond specified.  The sport is taxing on the body of an older athlete. Fingon continued to press that if he could do what he does at his age, why should there be a restriction? It was agreed to lift it with a catch--athletes after a certain age will not be eligible for all-around competition, and individual events are limited to two at a later cut-off.  This is all scheduled to go into effect for the next season; Fingon probably has not received the letter about it yet. I am sure they will write to him asking if he desires to compete. Truly a shame.”

The information fell on Glorfindel’s ears like painful darts. He forgot Fëanor was there, he forgot what was happening later on. His insides twisted into knots with fear and worry that his husband would reverse what he needed to do to remain well in pursuit of the self-image that had defined him for so long. The mere notion terrified him. His eyes were unseeing as his mind played out dozens of very realistic scenarios, all of which would end in the loss of Fingon.

“Of course, he would need a sponsor, since he does not have a team he affiliates with.  There was Finrod, once upon a time, but Finrod does not have the excess funding for that sort of venture.  My father, of course, but he vowed never to get involved for fear someone would think Fingon had only bought himself a title because of the favor of the king.  And that leaves...me.” Fëanor titled his head. “Unless he happens to have a great number of other very rich friends and family members or some hidden funds he is not divulging.”  Fëanor turned the bacon and studied Glorfindel. “Did you ever see him compete?”

Raising his head, Glorfindel had not felt this defeated since the time of his deep despair after leaving Faelion and the accident. “No,” he answered. He set down the vegetable knife he had been holding, for his hands trembled now. “All I know is that I would give most anything if you would not speak of this to him while you are here. We have no wealth. If we did, Fingon would not have sold his hair for gold. Indis spent his savings to help Erestor. I cannot lose him.” Unable to speak further, Glorfindel squeezed his eyes shut and held his hand over his mouth. He was beyond any ability to feel ashamed on account of his emotions or the jumbled nature of his speech. Mostly, he wished that Fëanor had not come to their home with unbearable news.

Fëanor quickly removed the bacon from the stove, heaped a substantial helping of whatever was ready onto a plate, and walked it out of the room.  He returned without the plate and guided Glorfindel to sit at the table, and he, opposite. “I did see him compete. I watched all of the competitions he was in.  He knows that his grandparents were there; he does not know I was. Watching the things he could do was beyond amazing. Once upon a time, he was the best.” Fëanor crossed his arms over his chest.  “That was then. This is now.” Fëanor frowned, contemplated, and said, “He stands no chance of winning. What the gymnasts now can do is extraordinary. So...when he finds out, for he will, tell him we spoke of it in passing and send him to me if you see that glimmer of hope in his eyes.  I think, after I chat with him, he will not make an attempt to compete. However, should he somehow still wish to, he would be limited to two events. For him, that would mean the floor exercises and something else. From a logical standpoint, that something else is the rings. As far as competitions go, he stands far less chance of injury on those.”

“Thank you,” Glorfindel said in a tone not much above a whisper. “You must think me unbalanced. Maybe I am. I have no way of conveying to you what has happened here only in the last five days, much less the last three weeks. This is not just about an old athlete who wants to keep going on regardless of whether it makes sense or not. This is our entire household, afraid for Fingon’s future. For our future. I barely know our family, or you. I…” he trailed off. “It does not matter. You did not come here to listen to this. I should keep cooking, the others will wake and be hungry soon.”

“Let me cook,” said Fëanor, and before Glorfindel could protest, he was back in the business side of the kitchen.  “Ever cook for seven hungry boys the morning after a hiking trip? I have. My brother might be able to make his fancy foods, but if you need to feed an army, I can do it before they start sitting on each other and taunting the dog and doing whatever else they think to do to each other.  Now, while you are there, do you have access to something to write with and on?”  

Glorfindel numbly looked around and spied some paper and a pencil from the lists being made the night before.  He nodded in confirmation when Fëanor looked over.

“Write down these names.  Aurëtuluwen. She is my life coach.  She is the person who offers me advice such as, ‘Is it really a good idea to make another set of silmarils?’ or ‘If you are only going to the family reunions to harass your stepmother, should you really go?’.  The next time you are on the mainland, go find her, tell her I sent you, and set her upon Fingon--and anyone else in your economic arrangement who is making bad decisions.”

Glorfindel began to open his mouth, but Fëanor kept going.  “Write down this name. Samwise Gamgee. Now, why would you write down the name of the resident Hobbit?  Easy. He is my relationship counselor. He says things like, ‘Mister Fëanor, having another child does not address the marital unhappiness you and your wife are having.  You need to talk more.’ Best of all, I pay him in mushrooms and interesting seeds. You should seek him out, too. He has good Hobbit sense. Not that I follow it all, but he does offer it.”  Fëanor already had a substantial number of pancakes on a platter and was working on the third batch of bacon while slicing fruit and squeezing fresh juice.

“No wonder Erestor spoke so highly of you,” Glorfindel said unthinkingly. “You have so many talents.” His eyes averted again. Trying to process the ellon in his kitchen was just that...trying. The closest person to whom he could compare this strong and confident personality within his experience was Turgon, but that was not really right at all. Or maybe Thranduil? But still there were too many differences. And from what his spouses had told him, those who remained near to this fire invariably seemed to end up singed, if not worse. “I shall keep these names in mind,” he added lamely, knowing that he had already lost anything resembling control of the activity or the conversation. “Samwise is indeed a most sensible hobbit. Seeds...huh we have these medlar fruits and….um, actually never mind about those.” The beautiful ellon somewhat wistfully wished he could wiggle under the table and hide, but it was far too late for that.

“You said you barely know anything about the family, or me.  I am ankle-deep in pancakes and eggs and nowhere else to be. If you have questions, I am willing to answer in what ways I can.”  Fëanor set bowls of fruit out on the table, each type in its own container.

Glorfindel stared at him for a moment. “I think I need to start by asking what you know of me, if anything at all. It would save needless dialogue.”

“Alright.”  Fëanor, who had found all of the tools, pots, and pans needed, had crafted a warming station to keep the food from getting cold or drying out.  He brought over additional overripe fruit for juicing and set up his task across the table from Glorfindel. “You are my ex-lover’s husband and you are, well, were, an accountant, and you were one of Turgon’s followers back in Middle-earth, and then you went back later, and you have the talking horse.  Oh, and you have golden hair. But, that seems obvious to tell you.”

“Maybe it is,” Glorfindel reflected. “I mostly did not know if you were aware that I was more or less cast out from the family as a very young man. Before adulthood, and that is why the only things I really know about those of the House of Finwë are through the eyes of others. My father...I think we are trying to reconcile. Uncle Finrod has been very kind to me. I did not get on so well with Turgon, though I died a slow death in the service of his family. That is all kind of rambling and…” he shook his head. “And I am veering off the subject. If I was going to ask you anything, I guess it would be about Erestor, who I loved from the first moment I laid eyes on him though it was hopeless for ages. What happened to him, and why...but really those are things that maybe the two of you should discuss. 

“You are this...everyone knows your name. What you tried to do, what of it succeeded and what of it was a disaster. I can see that you have a great force of personality, and that you do not much care what others think of you--at least to outward appearances. So now that I have rattled off the equally obvious things occupying my mind, I am left with one lone thing I can yet ask: What should I know of you? I mean,  _ really _ know of you. Because part of me believes you should have a caution sign floating over your head. What do you really think, and feel? Anyone can discuss their achievements or their history, but I find that the greatest courage there is manifests in those with the willingness to speak frankly about what lies within.” He patted his hand over his heart, and wondered where in Arda these words were coming from, and why he suddenly had the balls to be saying these things to Fëanor.

Fëanor began to smile from the moment Glorfindel mentioned the caution sign.  “I like you. We should be friends. We already have something in common.” Fëanor cut an orange in half.  “What should you really know about me...that is hard to say. Perhaps what comes to mind first is how fiercely protective I am of my sons.”

The sea green eyes met the gray ones unflinchingly. “I will not pretend to know any of your sons well save Mae. And while it is obvious to me that he loves you, he has also told of words and deeds that did not appear to be in his best interest. I am speaking mostly of things that happened in the past, but not all.” Glorfindel paused. “You must be accepting of our partnering with only males, if you are here. And then there is whatever I am,” he snorted a little. “If you are unaware, I have a combination of both female and male reproductive organs--that was part of what caused my father to reject me. You must in fact be prepared to support your son more than I can even comprehend, based on some of the things you have said in this kitchen, though we mean to be self-reliant. I have always had to manage on my own or with the aid of the few who saw any worth in me. I already like that about you. A father should be there for his children.” As his own words settled over him, Glorfindel looked away and wished a great many things had been different.

“Being ‘the greatest’ does not mean being perfect.  All I can say in my defense is that I tried, and I love all of my children equally. They are all of them a part of me, and consequently, since I am equal parts my father and mother, so, too, do they remind me of my mother.”  Fëanor twisted the second half of the orange on the juicer. “As for your physicality, I heard rumors that it was a trait found in our family and that there are a few. I only knew of my sister. She was always open about it.  I think that was why Indis sometimes ‘forgot’ to tell my sister about family gatherings that were in public.”

“Your...what?” Glorfindel asked, his face full of confusion and deep surprise. “You cannot mean there are others like me to whom I am related.  I barely thought there was anyone here in Valinor!”

“Well, there are,” Fëanor said, trying not to sound so shocked himself.  “It is more common than you might think, though, rare enough that it hardly makes it into biology books.  There is a word for it, though, so it comes up often enough to merit that.”

The usually sunny face fell into unhappiness. “I know next to nothing. My parents had me operated on. I did not know why I had scars...there...until only a handful of years ago. They were ashamed of me. I--” The flow of tears could not be stemmed, but Glorfindel at least managed to cover his mouth with his hand and turn away so that no sound could escape.  “I met others, but they hide what they are. They speak of it in riddles, even to each other, ashamed as I have been.”

Fëanor immediately abandoned the juice and came around to the other side of the table.  He sat down next to Glorfindel and put an arm around him. “There is no reason to be ashamed of what you are.  Each of us is as…” Fëanor licked his lips. “Each of us is as Eru wills it. You have been given a gift, though it may not seem so.  I know that my sister is coming to the wedding. I want you to meet her. She would be happy to speak to you. I think in her you will find a kindred spirit.”

Nodding, Glorfindel tried to draw deep breaths to calm himself. He could not say why he felt comfortable enough to do this, but he leaned in toward the comfort Fëanor offered. “You said there is a word for it,” he sniffled. “Please tell me what it is?”

“There are actually a couple of words, but the ones that are the least...offensive, in my mind, are the ones my sister prefers.  There is Ioniel, when one feels more a sense of masculinity. There is also Ielion, for the reverse. In the Quenya, Anonanel or Anelanon.  There is one more word, but it is only in Quenya, and that is Seldëo. It was reserved for those who felt so split, so in conflict, that neither dominated their spirit.  These terms could be used whether there was physical evidence, or if someone just felt that way in their heart. And then, Laws and Customs, and it was all but banned to even think the word, but there certainly are those who--”  Fëanor sighed. “We both know who I mean.”

“Yes.” The words felt like a balm, a form of healing while they settled over his thought. “I have wished so much that I could ease that burden for him. Perhaps I have. He can…” Raising his eyes, Glorfindel wondered if this was entirely too personal a thing to share but did it matter, when this much already had been said? “He can love me as a male, or as a female. I find I much prefer the latter, though I more strongly identify with masculinity. Both are there, though. I know of no other way to be; this is how I am made and I have spent long enough in shame and ignorance. Thank you, for teaching me this. You cannot know to what extent this lifts my spirits.” The inner sunshine burst forth again as though dark clouds parted.

“I am glad for that.”  Now it was Fëanor who contemplated how much to say, and he continued on.  “I know that I hurt him greatly, and my intention was never to do so. I would never have thought to compromise the relationship he and I had as nephew and uncle--dare I say favorite uncle, for he has certainly been my favorite nephew in that I do not say ‘half’ of him.  He had certain expectations, and such hopeful desires, that in hindsight I saw how much in need of love he was to take any shred of hope, any glimmer of a chance, with anyone. It would have been easy for someone to take advantage of that, and I fear he might have let them.  I am comforted at last that all seems to be as it should be for him, and, for the rest of you.”

“Fëanor...I do not  think you know at all, from the words you now speak. You are right, when you describe my husband as desperate. I am still learning of the depths of hurt he has taken, both here and here.” Glorfindel’s hands each described a half-circle, with one tapping the side of his head and its companion resting over his heart. “You seem to honestly care about him, but your view of what happened could not be more different than Fingon’s. What to you probably seemed like an unfortunate misunderstanding shattered him, exactly because of that need for love. He gave you his heart, and believed you understood that he wished to espouse you. When something rather different unfolded...it was bad. Really bad. Am I correct, to think you did not understand?”

A blush colored Fëanor’s cheeks.  “He what?” Fëanor’s mouth was open slightly in disbelief.

“Fingon loves deeply. And quickly,” Glorfindel said, his voice very low to keep their conversation from being overheard. “I am...I cannot say ‘a victim,’ for that makes it sound like I am trapped with a man I do not love. I love Fingon wholly. But I have learned these last weeks that I married him without knowing him at all. Navigating that has been my burden, one I am more than willing to shoulder even if my vows did not compel me. I was abused and rejected by my family, but I knew love even if it was the love of friendship. Fingon had Maedhros for a time, but...forgive me, the events you set in motion left that with no chance of succeeding, especially after the abuse he suffered as a youth. Add in what you noted earlier about a terrible conflict with gender identity and…” Glorfindel shrugged. “It is why he scorns you. He believes you scorned him first. He had gone to Fingolfin, to declare his intentions toward you. The humiliation he felt...he believes you led him on, intentionally used him.”

“I should have spoken with him.”  Fëanor shook his head. “I either give people too much space or not enough.  It seems I erred in this regard with him.”

“You should not try. Talk to your son, who has a connection to him neither Erestor nor I ever will. Let him guide you through this. If you attempt to do otherwise, I fear you will provoke a truly awful response. No one needs that. Especially not today.”

“That is wise.  It would be wise of me to finish preparing the meal,” realized Fëanor, and he stood up and returned to his task.  “Thank you for your advice, Glorfindel.”

The golden head nodded. “He will view what I have told you as an immense betrayal. Secrecy, suppression, silence. Those are how he has coped with what has befallen him. I am placing considerable trust in you.” Blue-green eyes studied Fëanor carefully, waiting.

“So...the absolute opposite of how I deal with problems.”

“Given that I cannot even imagine him having this discussion...yes. I hope it will not always be like this, but I remember always that he raised me up when I was the one who was a broken wreck. I believe he can be helped.”

Fëanor arranged all of the items on the table buffet style as he listened.  Then he shared with Glorfindel: “At a time when no one wanted to see let alone speak to me, when my own children, my own wife, and all of my friends turned away upon sight of me, he was the only one who opened his door.  He was the only one who listened to my side of things. He was the only one who cared. I should have sought him out and done the same for him.” Fëanor cut off whatever more he might have said as footsteps approached and Nerdanel appeared.  “Just in time, darling,” he said as he went to the cupboard to retrieve a stack of plates.

“You are fortunate to have such a capable husband,” Glorfindel complimented. “Then again, so am I. May I help you in any way, Nerdanel?”

Nerdanel had a rolled up pancake in one hand and another half in her mouth.  She shook her head, mumbled something as she bit the pancake, and walked out again.

Fëanor began to heap food onto the top plate. “She makes me sleep on the couch, too, during these months because I move too much in my sleep.  And still, I love her.” He picked up the plate and carried it with a fork out of the room.

“For the reward, that is a small price to pay.” Glorfindel spoke to himself sadly, not meaning for that to be overheard. “I wonder if you know how fortunate you are, to have a child.” Standing, he called to mind the long list of other duties to which he ought to be attending, staring off in the direction Fëanor had taken. “Then again, I feel rather convinced you do.” Smiling again, he busied himself notifying the others that food was prepared.

  
  
  
  
  
  


###  Mid-Morning - Day 25

“Flowers...check.  More flowers...check.  Lots more flowers...check, check!” Asfaloth trotted around after all of the helpers that Celebrían had recruited from the guests who had already arrived.  

“I was unaware of the fact he could read,” whispered Elladan to Elrohir.

Elrohir slowly turned his head and stared wide-eyed at Elladan.  “I was unaware of the fact he could look like that.”

“I can hear you!” Asfaloth bellowed cheerfully from across the lawn, and was shushed by several people around him.  He skipped to where the brothers stood and hugged the clipboard he had been carrying around. “I can hear you!” he hissed at them.

“Yes.  Sorry, Asfaloth,” said Elladan.

“And now you are talking back to him,” muttered Elrohir.

“Elrohir, dear, come help your mother with this tent,” Elrond said as he steered his younger son away from the snorting equine in his Elven form.

“Some people,” Asfaloth commented once Elrohir was out of earshot.

Elladan smiled.  “Can I see your list?  Maybe I can help with something,” he offered.

Asfaloth turned the clipboard and held it up.  There were no words, only pictures of flowers crudely drawn, and boxes to check beside them.  Some boxes were checked multiple times.

Elladan looked around.  “I think we have the flowers covered,” he said.

“Oh, they should be uncovered, so everyone can enjoy them!”

“I say that about so many things,” Gildor preened as he assessed the progress. “But then I am told it is too risqué. Darlings, how are we doing in here?”

“My brother retreated and I have no idea what to do other than find more flowers,” replied Elladan.

“Yes yes yes… more flowers…”  Asfaloth made several check marks on his sheet.

Gildor frowned, his well-attuned nostril catching a particular scent. “Asfaloth, have you been tippling?”

Asfaloth stood up straight.  “I have been blooming,” he said matter-of-factly.

Elladan furrowed his brow.  “We do not actually need more flowers, do we?”

“Asfaloth always needs more flowers, in his hair But those have to be put in later, or they will wilt by the time the ceremony.” Gildor waved his hand through the air, mollified. “This area though...I really do think we have it covered. Do you think next we could do blooming with the centerpieces? Are those ready?”

“I was told I could not go near the centerpieces anymore on account of how tasty they are,” said Asfaloth solemnly.

Elladan grinned.  “I like this version of Asfaloth.  Are you staying this way from now on?”

“Unless I do this,” Asfaloth said, and in an instant, he had reconstituted himself back into his fully equine form.

Elladan took a step back.  “Well that was...different.  And painful looking.”

“We should not do that, Asfaloth, magnificent though you be in this most regal form,” Gildor corrected. “We really need you with fingers this afternoon. Okay, so, no centerpieces. But something seems missing...oh! Of course! The streamers! The colored paper streamers have not been placed, and we definitely need fingers--and tallness--for that. Elladan, you can...sit on your brother’s shoulders. Yes, we can make this work. Asfaloth, please get blooming!”

And Asfaloth was suddenly in his two-legged form again.  “Ta-dah! I need more flowers,” he said as he walked away.

“I am so not sitting on Elrohir’s shoulders.  I see that pool over there,” Elladan said as he nodded at it.  “He will accidentally ‘trip’ and send me right into it. No thank you.  You sit on his shoulders,” he said.

“I will help, if you will help me,” Maedhros offered, appearing from wherever he had been. “Sometimes people tell me I am tall.”

“Mae Mae to the rescue!” Gildor smiled, effusively hugging his husband and pulling him near for a kiss.

“Always,” the redhead grinned, a real smile showing all his teeth. “Now. Where are my grandson, this most excellent horse and I going to be streamering?”

Gildor bit his lip. “I could do so much with that.”

Patting him on the head, Maedhros kissed the crown of his head. “I know you could, sweet cheeks.”  _ And I count on it. “ _ Just now, though, we shall behave ourselves. Now. Streamers. Where?”

And that was when a large roll of woven paper bonked Maedhros in the side of the head.  “Ten points!” announced Celegorm with his arms in the air while Curufin smugly held a second roll.  Maglor stood with his roll gripped in both hands and looked at it warily while Caranthir wound up and launched another at Maedhros.

Maedhros caught the second assault and waggled a finger at them.  With the influx of people, it was his first encounter of the day with any of his brothers.  Celegorm slowly lowered his arms; Curufin gawked. Caranthir’s eyes widened, and Maglor dropped his roll of streamers.  “Your hand,” was all Maglor got out before he walked and then ran and gripped the long missing appendage with his own shaking hands.  “You have it back. All of it.” He examined each finger individually in awe, brushing his fingertips over knuckles and fingernails. Then he pressed it to his cheek, held onto it, and wept.  Maedhros tossed the roll of streamers he was holding in his left hand to Curufin so that he could comfort Maglor by petting his head.  

“Well, I guess that puts me out of the running as Maglor’s favorite brother,” huffed Celegorm, any seriousness of his statement a jest.  “This means no more handicap for you when we go shooting!” he shouted to Maedhros.

“Good.  Means I can kick your ass fairly now,” Maedhros shot back.

“You think you can kick his ass?”  Curufin tossed the roll of streamers behind his back, and they were caught by a nervous Asfaloth.  Curufin began to roll up his sleeves. “Come on. Right now. You and Maglor against Celegorm and I.”

“Wait, what?” Maglor shook his head.  “No thank you. Not today. I am wearing robes.”

“Fine.  Raincheck on that.  Carathir, you and Maedhros against us,” announced Celegorm.

“I want no part of this.  Find an Ambarussa,” Caranthir stepped back from his brothers.

“Come on--one round,” Curufin prodded.

Maedhros was gently nudging Maglor out of the way, and then he cracked his knuckles.  “I am big enough, I can take you both,” he announced.

A shrieking whistle split through the air, and all three challengers meekly stood down as their father seemed to appear suddenly from nowhere.  “Really? Really. Curufin. Really? Celegorm...reeeeally? And Maedhros. On your wedding day? I should not have to say it.”

“Sorry, father,” all three of them mumbled.

Fëanor rubbed his forehead and turned to walk away.  “The new one had better be a girl,” he muttered to himself.

Curufin’s eyes darted to the side. “After the reception, Maedhros.”

The redhead grinned, watching his sire depart. “Deal, Curvo. But if my spouse comes to my defense, do not start your whining.” 

“Oh...hmm.  Now I have to consider this possibility.”  Curufin looked behind at Caranthir. “Are you sure you do not want to pair up with Maedhros on this one?”

“Most certainly not.  I want to see the other thing,” admitted Caranthir with a wicked grin.  

Gildor smirked.  “Hardly seems it would be a Fëanorian reception without such a thing.”

“See?  Gildor concurs, and we all can agree that Finrod was among all our family the most sensible--and Gildor, by birth, would have retained much of that,” reasoned Maedhros.  Gildor grinned proudly.

Asfaloth knocked his knuckles together.  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Well, darlings, now that this is all settled, I see three men and a horse and streamers really must be prioritized,” Gildor crooned. “We can all wrestle in the grass later on.” With precise intent, Gildor licked his lips while his gaze lingered over Curufin and Caranthir. “Mmmmm,” he added for effect.

Celegorm straightened up and took two steps backwards.  “I think I hear my wife calling,” he said as he began a hasty retreat.

“Celegorm, get back here!” hissed Curufin as he made a failed grab for his brother.

“I decline participation on account of...something,” Celegorm announced as he bounded away into the growing crowd.

Caranthir plucked the roll of streamers from Asfaloth’s hand.  “Point to what you want celebratized, and it shall be streamered, Inglorion.”

“Thank you. I will issue a teensy apology for what I just did but...Celegorm,” Gildor grinned. “It was so worth it.”

Maedhros guffawed, grabbing streamers and handing some to Asfaloth. “Yes. Yes it was. And before this is over with, he needs to be....streamered.”

“Not even sure what was being apologized for,” Caranthir said as he tossed the roll over a tree while holding onto the end.  Curufin side-stepped over to his brother and whispered something to him. Caranthir rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know what he was doing; no, I take no offense in it.”

“Oh.”  Curufin looked around and decided to twist streamers around the base of the nearest table.  When he finished, he wandered back past Caranthir. “If you say so.”

Caranthir, who was on his second tree, reached out to tug on Curufin’s shirt.  “You do realize that a straight man can be give a compliment, or, well, some degree of...flirtatiousness and it is not going to cause you to--”  He snapped his fingers. “Turn gay.”

Curufin looked to make sure Maedhros and Gildor were far enough away not to hear before he spoke.  “I do not like it; I do not appreciate it. It bothered Celegorm more.”

“So...capturing unwilling princesses and whistling at maidens, that is allowed, but a man makes a comment or displays some sort of body language that speaks to his desires, and that makes you uncomfortable?”

“Of course it makes me uncomfortable.  You should be uncomfortable, too!” 

Caranthir bit his lip.  He looked at Asfaloth. “Do you want to give it a try?  Maybe he would understand ‘horse sense’.”

“It is not that hard,” Asfaloth offered, his limpid eyes fixed on Curufin. “I want you to imagine that you are like me. A horse. I like mares. A lot. I have liked mares forever and when I see a mare--”

Asfaloth caught Gildor’s frown and stopped. “So you get that part. But a horse has urges. Sometimes when I need to show my fabulousness over other horses, I mount stallions. That is part of how we...communicate, though to be perfectly honest there might or might not be altercations involved...huh. Anyhow. Just a few humps, everyone gets the message, and to be fully honest it feels nice, those firm rumps. That does not make anyone uncomfortable, nor does it make me want to…you know...with other stallions. It makes me feel sad, to hear you say these things. Why do you care how your brother or anyone else wants to make love? You can do what you want to, and he does not care, so why do you look on Gildor as though he is going to give you a bad case of worms?”

Curufin shuddered.  “Great. The horse is gay, too,” he mumbled as he set the streamers down on the table and sought out Celegorm.

Caranthir patted Asfaloth’s shoulder.  “You tried. At least he did not run off like Celegorm did.  Honestly, Celegorm is worse. Then again...it could be much worse.  Aranwë might have decided to attend. Not that he would. No use bringing that up.  Here; we should get the rest of these trees done.”

Blinking, Asfaloth stamped his foot. “I thought I explained that I was  _ not _ gay. In detail. Do I need to bring a mare out here? Because there are a few in the stable that are incredibly appealing and--”

Gildor, smiling, shook his head No.

“Fine,” Asfaloth continued. “No mares, even though it is completely natural. Your brothers need to have their ears checked. Waxy buildup, you know. It can happen, and then they cannot--”

“There is nothing wrong with their hearing,” Gildor told him with a hint of sadness. “It is their minds, and hearts.”

“Oh. Well, that sounds more difficult to...you know what? I am just a horse and I am going to streamer now.” Turning, he set off in a direction opposite of the one chosen by Curufin.  Elladan, who had been attempting to silently help, opted to follow after the horse. 

Caranthir sighed and gave Maedhros and Gildor a look of sympathy.  “They came. They are supportive of you. They just...have very set opinions about the world.  They love you. They really do.”

“Maybe change is in the air,” Maedhros smiled, refusing to allow his brothers’ prejudices to sully the day. “What do you think, Gildor?”

“I love you, Mae Mae. You know me, water off a swan. Can we please streamer now?”

The trio worked their way through most of the trees without further conversation, each of them silent with their own thoughts.  This calm was disrupted by a slight commotion, and a wide path being given as Nerdanel marched Celegorm and Curufin back to their eldest brother.  They were led along by an ear, Nerdanel keeping firm hold of them so that they were walking slightly askew to keep up with her furious pace. She deposited them in front of her, and as each son rubbed one side of his head in discomfort, she cleared her throat.  

“Sorry, Russandol.  I did not mean to sully your special day,” said Curufin meekly. 

Celegorm followed with, “I am sorry I ran off in the middle of a conversation.”

Nerdanel cleared her throat again.

“And I am sorry I took offense to your apparently ‘lighthearted’ actions, Gildor,” added Celegorm.

“Neither of you even get it,” Caranthir blurted out even though his mother appeared appeased.  “Do you realize how much your words and actions hurt him? I am not asking you change your thoughts and feelings; they are just as valid as mine or anyone else’s.  To me, I do not care--it does not physically involve me. No one is making me watch intimate acts between them; let them be happy.” His cheeks were red with frustration, for Curufin’s expression was blank and Celegorm was now watching a sparrow on the lawn.  “Celegorm. I think your clothing is inappropriate.”

“What?  Why?” Celegorm looked down at what he was wearing.

“Your shirt has not sleeves, and you come barefooted to a wedding.”

“So?  I always wear shirts like this, and you never complained before.  And why do you care whether I wear shoes or boots or nothing at all?  It does not concern you,” Celegorm said with authority.

“Exactly!  Exactly my point, damn it!”  Caranthir lowered his voice after a warning look from his mother.  “If it does not concern me, I can have an opinion, but why should I stop you from doing it?  Who cares?”

“What is going on now?” demanded Fëanor.  He had an armful of linens hugged to his chest.  Nerdanel leaned over and whispered to him. Quite a few times during the explanation, Fëanor sighed.  “Just...one day. Can we have a day of peace?”

“He started it,” muttered Celegorm without elaborating on who ‘he’ was.

Fëanor rolled his eyes and shook his head.  He glanced at Nerdanel, who tilted her head to the side as an obvious private discussion was being had, and then nodded.  Fëanor adjusted the linens he was holding and said to his sons, “My first lover was a man.”

The muscle in Curufin’s cheek twitched.  Celegorm looked dumbfounded. “What?”

“A man.  Male. Like me.  We flirted, we kissed, we...just about everything.  Obviously not everything. Almost.” Fëanor coughed and looked between Celegorm and Curufin, and then to Maedhros.  “So is there still a problem here?”

“No, sir,” Curufin said solemnly.  He elbowed Celegorm.

Celegorm needed another prompting by his brother before he answered, “Of course not, sir.”

“Good.  Here. The two of you can come help your mother and I put the cloths on the tables.”  Fëanor departed, with Celegorm, Curufin, and Nerdanel following after.

Now the only one left looking shocked was Caranthir.  To Maedhros he asked, “Did you know about that?”

“Yes, I did. I do. Because I share a roof with the man in question. What should interest everyone far more is the tale of how that man’s life was one of endless mental and physical cruelty suffered at the hands of others, on account of his preference. How the beliefs of the House of Finwë were complicit in the misery and sorrows of Erestor. Glorfindel. Fingon....and me. This is a happy day, a day which I will celebrate for as long as I am granted life. But I tell you this, brother. No more will we endure in silence, as though the shame is ours. No more will the things to which we have been subjected be kept secret. The cover shall be torn away, and what lies beneath will be there for all to see.”

Caranthir stretched to reach Maedhros’ head with his hand and patted it.  “So, process of elimination on that, it was Uncle Erestor. It makes a lot of sense.  And...sorry, I did not mean to ask that as if I was looking for family gossip. I was in shock by that--not because I have a problem with it, but because father is not one to keep things privately.  Shall we finish the streamering?”

“Yes,” Maedhros smiled, laying a hand on Caranthir’s shoulder. “I do not mean to sound bitter. Really it is the opposite. I am finding a new kind of strength. I thought keeping it all in was the best course of action, and what I have seen these last weeks convinces me that I have been so very wrong. I feel a kind of liberation difficult to express in words.”

“That is very good.  It is good to see you happy.  Joyful, even.” Covertly, Caranthir had used his close proximity to wrap the streamers around Maedhros several times and now bunched up the remainder on the end and plopped it on his head.  “There. You seem ready for the day.”

“Jerk. But I love you anyway,” Maedhros chuckled. 

As Caranthir and Maedhros hugged across the lawn, Nerdanel pointed at them and scolded Celegorm and Curufin with, “The two of you should take some lessons from them.”

“We said we were sorry,” Celegorm said as he shook out a cloth over one of the tables.  

“We were sincere about it, too,” added Curufin.

Fëanor looked up and was about to explain that no one who has to explain they are sincere actually is sincere, but movement elsewhere caught his eye.  He watched as Erestor, who had just arrived home again, came out the back door to greet Cirdan before going back into the house again. Fëanor set the linens down on an empty table and rubbed his sweaty palms together.  He nearly leaped in the air when someone touched his shoulder.

Nerdanel gave him a smile and then shifted her eyes to the back door, and then to Fëanor again.  She squeezed his hand, nodded her head in the direction of the house and said, “Boys, as soon as we finish with these, we can start tying the bows on the chairs.”

“Are we being punished?” asked Curufin.

Nerdanel gave them a pseudo-sweet look.  “Punishment would be a ribbon on each leg of each chair.  Which, perhaps we have enough for that…”

Fëanor slipped away and slowly made his way through the crowd.  He greeted a few people here and there, but ultimately, pretended to admire the buttery yellow flowers around the house.  For a moment, he contemplated just why there was a trampoline leaned against the house before he slipped inside.

It was not hard to find Erestor, for he and another woman with a matching cloth over her head worked to assemble a huge cake, layers of which were spread out on just about every available surface.  “Eressë, I was wondering if--”

“Not now!”  Erestor and Inarata carefully set a large layer on six pedestals and let out a sigh of relief when nothing leaned or fell.  “Sorry, Naro, little busy at the moment.”

“Right.  Of course.  Sorry. I did not mean to intrude.  I can show myself back out.”

The tone of voice alerted Erestor immediately, and he swiftly made his way around the base to reach Fëanor before he reached the door.  “I really need to get this set up before we have a lot of onlookers. It is making me very nervous as it is. Maybe we could talk later?”

“Sure.”  Fëanor nodded.  “Um...after the cake is built, or later after the wedding, or...later later?”

Sensing a great and unexpected level of insecurity, Erestor reached out and touched Fëanor’s hand with a smile.  “Maybe you could wait inside the house, and then I can find you after the cake is settled in.”

“Where should I wait?” asked Fëanor.

“Anywhere is fine--oh, just not the room at the end of the corridor on the second floor.  Fingon is sleeping in there. We are trying not to disturb him.”

Fëanor nodded.  “If you need help, please let me know.”

“Oh, I would gladly accept, except we have very little space to move around the table as it is.  If we do, though, I will come and get you,” promised Erestor.

With another nod, Fëanor removed himself from the workspace, and Erestor and Inarata returned to taming the massive wedding cake.

  
  


###  Afternoon - Day 25

Erestor closed the door of the library behind him and adjusted the scarf that covered his hair.  Fëanor looked up from the book he was paging through, and then turned his head. As soon as he saw Erestor, he lifted a hand, two fingers raised in greeting, and returned to reading.

A quick scan of the room confirmed for Erestor that Gildor had done an excellent job of cleaning the room before the arrival of their guests.  Clearing his throat, Erestor waited until Fëanor closed the book and turned around to speak. “I had heard from Maedhros that you and Nerdanel are expecting another child.”

“Should have been able to tell from how she looks,” Fëanor said.  

“Of course.  I meant it only as polite conversation.”

Fëanor smirked.  “When have I been known for polite conversation?”  He looked up and smiled at the withering look he was being given.  This was followed with, “Yes; We are. And the weather is so very nice today as well.”

“My congratulations to you.  May Eru bless you with a happy, healthy child.”

“Thank you.”  Fëanor looked Erestor over.  “You look a little different from the last time I saw you as well.”

“In what regard?” Erestor asked affably.

“Physically, that,” Fëanor said wiggling a finger at Erestor’s head.  “Your voice sounds different, too. You sound a lot calmer...like a wise, meditating sage.”

Smiling, Erestor nodded. “I would call it a certain peace, that came with finally being able to confront my past. All the…” He paused for just a moment, as the old instinct to hide and be secretive reared its head. The dark beauty reminded himself that there would never be a need for that ever again. “All that I suffered, both willingly and unwillingly, as I tried to exist as someone that I was not--I let that go. Many things changed for me as a result. I have ended a life lived mostly with lies and accepted that I am as valid as every other child of Eru.” There was much in that explanation to which Fëanor could respond, but the choice to do so would come from him.

“That is good.  We were very different in that respect when we were growing up,” Fëanor recognized as he closed the distance between them.  He lifted his hand up to just graze the edge of the end of the scarf. “Of course, I am so far on the other end of the spectrum sometimes.  So, existing as someone you were not...by that I suspect you mean following anything in a dress because someone convinced you that you should?”

Erestor smiled crookedly. “If by ‘convinced’ you mean drugged, physically and mentally tortured until my mind shattered in a facility offering conversion therapy I believed I needed after you sent me away...yes. What happened to me there affected me for a very long time. Up until quite recently.”

“Conversion therapy?  Where the fuck were you?” demanded Fëanor.  “I was told you were meditating in some temple somewhere--and that you did not want to speak to me.  As for sending you away, I am sorry that was how you felt. I thought I explained--yes, I suppose, either way, you certainly had a worse situation.”

“You were told a lie. I was at the Narmassa Sámanvinyasambë. ‘Meditating in some temple’ in reality meant drugged into a helpless state, electrocuted by your rune-stones for weeks on end, whilst strapped to a soiled chair naked and cold, thirsty and hungry. The worst part is, I thought I wanted to be ‘cured’ and signed away my rights, having no idea what their methods actually involved until it was too late.  I--I was naïve then, Fëanor, and believed that feelings were enough to overcome the opposition and demands of family. I loved you, and my heart tore when it was forced to grasp that my feelings were not to be requited. I felt abandoned, though I should have understood that you were given little choice. For that I apologize. It was a difficult time, to be as I was. It is not easy to find oneself rejected for existing. Each of us who loves differently has had to overcome ostracism, being told that we are at best lesser and at worst depraved. I have found a place where I am accepted without qualifications, and loved. I consider myself fortunate.”

“No one stops loving someone if they truly loved them to begin with.”  For a time, Fëanor studied Erestor’s face. “I am trying to process without punching a wall.  I did not know that was where you were, nor what was happening to you. I was certainly unaware of what my invention was being used for.”  He took a deep breath. “I am trying not to lose my temper for today.”

Fëanor walked to one of the windows and looked out.  “This is the first marriage of one of my children that I will be present to attend.  I have a great desire to find whoever did that to you and repay them in kind, but I am going to try right now to concentrate on what is happening now and for the future, and revisit the past tomorrow.”  He took it upon himself to open the window, which brought in some fresh air. “It makes me happy to know that you have found love. Maedhros sent a few letters, and reached out to speak to me on more than one occasion since he and Gildor arrived here.  His remarks have been similar.” Fëanor turned back around, his hands resting on the windowsill. “This might sound strange, but there is a certain joy in my heart, that though I cannot be with you, a part of me will always be with you, through my son.”  He turned away, and though he would not suffer to have someone see him cry, he wiped at his face with his back to Erestor.

The words sank in, and understanding followed. At the same time, a faint stab of loss tapped at the edges of his yet incomplete spiritual renewal. “I did not know. That you say this means you did not reject me, something I was unable to understand so long ago. Though we will not ever have what I once wished for so badly, it does not preclude the love of friendship. I wear this veil as a sign of devotion to the sanctity of marriage; something I failed to honor for most of the time I was wed to Glorfindel. I bear equal regard for the bond you share with your wife. If I might chastely hold you this once in acknowledgement that love should be victorious over fear and prejudice, I offer it.” The calm speech belied a mind struggling to digest the import of this new information.

Fëanor turned back around and lifted his arms.  As he and Erestor embraced in friendship, Fëanor said, “All who know my name seem to think I truly regarded the silmarilli as my greatest accomplishment because of words spoken in haste and anger, but in truth, my greatest creations shall always be my children.”  He stepped back and said, “I leave the eldest and most magnificent of those in the care of you and--the other--the--I have no idea what the fuck I call the five of you. But that. Four, obviously, since I am talking about Maedhros.”

Erestor laughed, releasing him. He accepted an inner awareness, a desire the embrace would linger--and allowed it to pass through him. “We do not know either. Wait. You are among the lambengolmor. Surely you can craft a suitable term? Because for now, ‘family’ must suffice. We are each other’s chosen family. I think you know that I have always felt great love for your sons--especially this one. He is insightful and compassionate, and fiercely protective of those he loves. I could not wish to share my life with a finer man. Gildor is very blessed.”

“Gildor.  Gildor is a blessing.”

“Gildor is much of why I have been able to heal from my past. His learning in the healer’s arts...I will simply say that we have all been helped greatly. And he can cook,” Erestor grinned.

“Oh.  I remember that time Amarië tried to teach you to bake a cake.  We could have killed someone with that brick,” recalled Fëanor.

“Did you know there is a reason for that? This is another recent discovery. I cannot smell or taste properly. As in, I cannot distinguish vinegar from water, that is how bad it is. But now I am learning to work around this, and am actually making progress. That cake was nothing, Fëanor. I burned water,” Erestor said proudly.

Fëanor snapped his fingers.  “I have it. Melindonossë. That would properly summarize for you.”

Erestor blinked. “That...of course. I like it. Five syllables, five of us. That seems poetically pleasing. It pleases me to see you have not lost your scholarly edge,” he teased.

“I like to play around with languages sometimes.  Writing systems. You know, no big deal.” Fëanor looked around the room.  “Looks like none of you are at a loss for knowledge here.”

“Play around?” Erestor snorted. “Fëanor, this is me. You have no need to hide your brilliance, though the modesty is becoming. Everyone here has some manner of talent, but none of us can rival your most focused skills. I think in some ways the most overlooked is Fingon. He has far more aptitude than he realizes but he has been run down so often. Perhaps in time. All of us here forge ahead on a journey to understand our worth. Only Gildor has not been abused. It is complicated.”

“So much of it was my fault.  I should have listened to you, when you came with the message of doom and curses and warnings.  That was why you were sent; I am sure of it. If I would have encouraged them all to go back, I probably would have received pardon as well.  They sent you because, even more than my wife, when you have implored me to do something or think about my actions, I actually do. Sometimes.  They probably hoped. Damn, am I stubborn,” Fëanor stated. “I should say, I am stubborn.” His mouth twitched. “How has Fingon been?” he asked.

Erestor froze, having unintentionally backed into a conversational corner. Some swift decisions were made. “If I answer, may I have your word this discussion goes no further? He has some very bitter feelings toward you and would not look on me kindly for having told you.”

“I am well aware that his feeling towards me are only marginally better than hatred,” said Fëanor.  “And I know that I wrongly believed one thing while he believed another, and that his scorn is deserved.  At the same time, despite his feelings towards me, I have always admired his spirit and determination. I would have been proud to have had him as one of my own sons.  I treated him as such, in those early days.”

“I would like it if that rift could be healed,” Erestor noted pointedly. “But that is not the answer to your question. Fingon is struggling to find a footing at the edge of mental collapse. He was raped, over and over, by multiple perpetrators as a youth and into adulthood. We are in the midst of slowly finding out how bad it was. He felt rejected by his father, and turned aside to athletics, someplace he thought he could find approval. Everything that followed amplified the shattering of his trust, hope, bodily integrity and sense of acceptance. Eloquent though some name me, I lack the means to detail the degradation of his spirit. I had it bad. He had it worse, and no one should be able to claim that position. Despite all this, his remains a loving heart.”

Fëanor’s countenance turned dark at the mention of rape.  When Erestor finished, Fëanor said in a low voice, “I want names.”

Erestor reached a trembling hand to touch Fëanor’s. “These are the deepest secrets of a troubled mind, that I am revealing to you. I am betraying my precious husband’s trust to tell you these things. Your son knows one name.” The dark eyes held pleading. “There is so much more to this than just the crimes. The fears and prejudices of some of our extended family influenced his parents toward emotional abandonment and laid the groundwork for this victimization. An institutionalized code of silence exists in gymnastics; we do not know how many victims there are. Surely Fingon was not the only one. There is this...issue of succession, and the heavy responsibility that hangs over Fingon’s head. After the wedding, if it is still your wish to know, I will tell you the name I have learned and how I hope to go about finding another. I beg in the meantime that you reflect on how much deeper this goes than a desire for vengeance. Please?”

“Fucking line of succession...if I had known Fingolfin was going to cede it, I would not have upheld Maedhros’ decision,” growled Fëanor.  “Forgive me; that was harsh. I do not mean to make you think that I believe Fingon to be a weak king--not at all. In fact, I have much faith in him, which is more than I can say for most.  I thought it would heal hurts, and that my brother could step in as he had when I was banished to Formenos. Alas, he turns aside, and puts Fingon in the position he is in--to accept a thing he does not want, or stand aside himself and let his brother step in.  I think we can all guess how Valinor would be with Turgon in charge, and while it would not be for myself that I worry, I have a son who is very dear to me, and I will not have some smug, secretive...coward telling anyone how they have to live their lives.”

Nodding, Erestor grimaced. “That exact burden is why Fingon is left with no choices. It would be Gondolin all over again and...having lived through that with Glorfindel’s life at constant risk, I have no desire to experience it a second time with all of our heads on the block.”

“No one needs that,” Fëanor agreed. “I just wish Fingolfin would have told me--I explained to him ahead of time, and he agreed, and then we assembled, and he pulled that and--sorry, this is all beyond your concern.  Well, perhaps not, because of Fingon,” Fëanor said.

“It will fall to us to support him,” Erestor said bluntly. “We have all been close to kings and rulers as the ages passed. It is just that we did not collectively have it in mind to inherit quite this circumstance. Glorfindel and I married Fingon without knowledge of...that. At this point it does not matter; it simply is. My task in the meantime is to help Fingon heal. I do not know Fingolfin’s side of this story. I only just learned days ago of his apparent inability to embrace Fingon’s...preferences, when he was a youth desperate for his father’s approval. Right now, though, there is a chance for joy. Maedhros, Gildor, celebration and happiness. All of you here. This is more important for Fingon than you can realize.”

“I can tell you Fingolfin’s side.  Fingolfin just wants to bake things, decorate cakes, and get his offspring to help him with the ‘family business’.  I had a pretty good idea of how Maedhros was going to be long before he was making eyes at Fingon.  Long before Fingon was even born. Fingolfin used to tell me he was sorry that I had a firstborn who was more like a daughter.  Piss on that--I know who was feeding him those lines. Indis could not keep her mouth shut, and she knew I would not listen to her, so she sent the thoughts to me through Fingolfin.  Well, look how that turned out for him, with his firstborn. You would think it would make him think, huh, guess this does happen in all sorts of families. See, he would spew these things at me on how, the fact that I did more of the child-rearing than Nerdanel did, that was what caused Maedhros to turn out as he did.  The reality was, I was in love with the idea of being a father, and Nerdanel felt that it was taking her identity as a sculptress away. We had an agreement!” Fëanor realized he was shouting a little and lowered his voice. “I have no idea what happened, but Fingolfin showed up one day, and babbled on to me about Fingon being cursed and unnatural, and when I finally got it out of him, I told him if it took him this long to see it, I was more of a father to Fingon than he was.  You can imagine how well that went. Sometimes I stick my foot in and end up knee-deep.”

“Why is it always Indis,” Erestor muttered, withdrawing his hand to pull at his lower lip with a generally displeased expression. “I do not know if Fingon will have the courage to tell his father what those ideas cost him. It is my belief that sooner or later, a reckoning is going to come of all of this. We have all save Gildor endured agony, and for three of us that agony came because of words like ‘unnatural.’ Our pain and torment was kept secret, hidden from the eyes of those who effectuated our suffering. I will tell you this: Sunshine is an excellent disinfectant, and we are learning that we have deeply wronged ourselves by taking the shortcomings of others and making them our own when it was Eru who made us this way. A light will illuminate this darkness, Fëanor. I only cannot say when.”

“Perhaps today offers a chance to begin that healing,” said Fëanor.

“I hope you can forgive that before this conversation I did not know that we had an ally in you. My heart fills with gratitude.” Erestor looked down, his chin trembling a little. “What you said, that no one stops loving someone...that is true. Thank you, for words that I shall cherish.” When he looked up, moisture clung to his long lashes. “Well. There is much to do. I think we shall speak again later on. I will have a question for you, then.” With a shy smile, Erestor left the room. 

Fëanor watched his departure, considering. A small curl of his lip was the only indication of his thought as he left to seek his wife.

** 

There were whispers in the old butchering room, where the cake was being kept out of sight as best as it could be, from prying eyes and those who might take a taste without realizing their fingers in the frosting would be noticed.  A pair analyzed the cake in soft voices, circling around it critically. “Unless intended, it is lopsided.”

“Even if intended, it is lopsided.”

“The color is uneven here.  Obviously, they did not know how much icing to make ahead of time, and had to try to match the color after the fact.”

“The only thought I have is that this was a rush.  An unexpected order for so many people would be difficult to accomplish on time.”

“Well, yes, most certainly a rush.  Those roses are buttercream, and this is not fondant.”

Rather loudly, Maedhros cleared his throat at the doorway.  “Lovely to see you both,” he said to his aunt and uncle, who returned his greeting in kind.  “Uncle Fingolfin, might we have a word in the greenhouse? I have a few questions I would like to ask you.”  Maedhros attempted a sliver of shyness in order to lure his prey.

It worked.  “Of course,” Fingolfin kissed his wife’s cheek and then followed Maedhros into the greenhouse.  Once Fingolfin had entered, Maedhros doubled back around and closed the door. “What questions have you for me?” Fingolfin asked.

Maedhros focused on the need to remain as mild as possible, else he would do more harm than good. “Uncle, these are difficult questions to ask, and I would not be asking if I did not feel a great need. This is not for myself, but for Fingon. His welfare matters a great deal to me.”

“Of course, of course.”  Fingolfin touched Maedhros’ shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.  “I shall answer to the best of my abilities.”

“Erestor told me of a recurring memory that dominates Fingon’s mind. Of a very embarrassing moment in his youth that involved him wearing a corset and being caught viewing himself in the mirror of the bedroom you share with your wife, to the mortification of both of you. But...Fingon also believed that encounter was a turning point, after which you abandoned him emotionally and he lost your parental approval. Many horrendous things befell Fingon later on, when he felt he must find acceptance elsewhere. I would like to ask for your side of this memory. I also need to know whether you do indeed disapprove of him on account of his sexuality. Your answer will not offend me, regardless what it is.” The gray eyes held no accusation or anger, and his voice had remained well-modulated, even kind. He had surprised even himself.

Stunned, Fingolfin stumbled to one of the work stools and sat down.  He removed a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his forehead. “Yes.  That happened.” Fingolfin bit his lip. “I sought counsel from others. The consensus was to ignore what happened.  I tried to do just that, but seeing him reminded me, so I distanced myself. We never spoke of it. He was swept up into the gymnastics soon after.  My mother was proud of that; it never came up again.”

Maedhros nodded slowly. “The truth is, it never left, Uncle. Fingon tried to find his way alone, afterward, because he saw no other choice. It did not end well for him. He believed he was no longer wanted at home, so he tried to find elsewhere to belong. Vulnerable, emotionally isolated, driven to succeed so he could earn approval in what ways remained open to him; he became easy prey.”

“Prey to whom?” Fingolfin questioned.

“Coaches, healers, adults in positions of authority,” Maedhros answered quietly. “Your son was raped, Uncle. Used and degraded, over and over and over. His trust and innocence stolen, he was threatened and beaten into silence and submission so that he would tell no one and be forced to accept his molestation. The shame of it, though not his, has eaten him from within until what little is left is on its last gasp to survive. It took his entire lifetime to trust someone enough to begin telling these things that damaged him so badly. Arguably, we did not even accomplish that. Erestor is skilled at communication with the mind; it was the bond of marriage that allowed him and by extension us to know what Fingon could not bring himself to tell on his own. He was so sure we would reject him, be revolted.”  A deep sigh followed, after which Maedhros met Fingolfin’s eyes. “I have taken a vow to protect him from further harm. That is why I had to ask these things. I had to know what happened, back then.”

For a long time, Fingolfin could only stare at Maedhros.  The first numb words he spoke after the minutes stretched out between them were, “I had no idea.”

Maedhros nodded. “None of us did. I have always known something went terribly wrong, but long ago...he would not open up to me. The truth began to come out on account of Erestor, and later Glorfindel as well. They have all been abused in one manner or another, so...Fingon must have felt they were safe in their shared pain.”

Fingolfin ran a hand through his hair several times.  After the fourth or fifth pass, it was obvious he was pulling at his hair as well, and then after the seventh time through, he hit himself in the side of his head twice with the flat of his palm.  “Shit. I need time alone, Maedhros. I do not mean to dismiss you, but I need a moment.”

“I will return to the house. Take what time you need; if you wish to speak further you need only indicate that. I...am sorry, to bear such ill news, but I am compelled to place Fingon first.” Maedhros seemed as though he wanted to say more, but thought better of it and left Fingolfin alone.

**

“Pardon...excuse me...my apologies…”  Gildor weaved through the crowd gathered outdoors.  While those of the House of Fëanor and Fingolfin had opted to venture into the house and the shade, Finarfin and Findis and their spouses and broods were mingling on the lawn.  Gildor waved at various cousins, aunts, and uncles, until he reached one in particular he had a desire to speak with. “May I cut in?” he asked with a sweeping bow as if at a ball approaching the most eligible lady there.  

Angrod turned his head.  “Good day,” he said, and Aegnor and Eldalótë offered the same.  

“It is a great day!” Gildor agreed.  He looped his arm through Angrod’s. “Can I borrow him for a moment?  Thanks!” he brightly chirped before he could be stopped, and was both leading and dragging Angrod away from the others and into the woods.

“Explain yourself, nephew,” Angrod finally demanded once he regained his bearings and pulled away.

“Short version, Uncle? I have been privileged to dwell under the same roof with four other delightful men and a horse and a Lord and Lady of Middle-earth. Two things have come to my attention. Fingon, whose well-being is now my concern, has a very difficult memory of something that happened long ago, and which I recall also though I was too young to really understand. Lots and lots of ice, tragedies happening all around, and the Fingon in question being scapegoated as cursed and driven off to find his way alone. I would much like to discuss that. Second, there is the matter of a certain blond man whose father has not reached out, visited or even written after a very dramatic initial reconciliation. Hint, I am not speaking of myself.” Gildor smiled winningly. “Your nephew has explained.”   

Angrod found a tree to lean against and did so carefully so as not to snag his finery on any of the branches.  “These are two separate matters, and I will attend to the second first as best I can. I have been busy, and before that sounds self-centered, I have been busy with matters that concern my son.”  Angrod scratched his chin. “If I reveal to you the nature of the business I have had, I would ask you keep it in confidence for the time being. While I know you will feel the need to tell him and the others of you before long, I would ask you conceal it in your mind until the day has passed.”

“Only Mae Mae can hear me, and we are balanced as to--we share as we choose to. I give my word to do as you have asked,” Gildor replied, the usual flippancy absent.

“Everyone’s favorite little asshole is up to assholery again.  Faelion has been bragging about a museum he is going to open in the theater, once owned by Fingon, now in the hands of his uncle.”  Angrod glanced around just in case, and then said, “When Glorfindel...escaped him, Faelion remained in possession of a great number of Glorfindel’s personal effects.  This, coupled with the incident in the theatre where Glorfindel was injured, which somehow Faelion found out about, have converged and Faelion wants to capitalize on all of it.  Your father and I have been making attempts to either block his ability to follow through, or to retrieve the items Faelion has.”

“I really cannot tell them this, even if I could,” Gildor said, his face curdling. “That little...nope, not going to say nasty things today, today is a happy day,” he reminded himself aloud. “Thank you, Uncle Angrod. I mean it. Glorfindel lost enough to him without this too. If Mae Mae found out, I am too worried there would be an incident of an unpleasant nature. He feels protective of Glorfindel and does not need that, especially with us looking forward to everything.”

“No one here does.  That is why I struggle with what I want to say to him.  I mean to write, but I have hoped that, in the end, my actions will speak louder than words ever can.”

“Well I am already a fan, dear Uncle,” Gildor smiled. “But it would not go amiss to just...what if you told him you are planning a thing, and cannot talk about any of the thing else you’ll end up talking about all of the thing. It is true, he will not press you for details, but he will...I cannot even explain what it would mean for him to hear that the reason for your silence is not what he fears. It is normal for someone in his position to suffer fear and doubt,” Gildor pointed out diplomatically. “Fin is so easy to love. He is sunshine that walks and talks.”

Angrod nodded at the advice.  “I admit, I am hoping I will have a chance to speak with him, but even now, I worry about what I will say.”  He sighed.  

“I would help you do this, if you wish,” Gildor offered. “I think you know that I have studied extensively to be a healer of the mind, and for those under this roof there is no charge.” 

“There was more you asked of me; something about the Helcaraxë.”

“Ah, that. Yes.. We were crossing the ice. People were dying. Turgon lost his wife, people fell through, I was old enough to remember that it was bad. That people were scared, despairing. Fingon told us that Eldalótë lost the child in her womb. And when that happened, he was blamed for the lives he took and told to leave lest further sorrow come upon the group of us. I cannot explain fully why I am asking because of confidentiality, but I would like to hear your perspective. Even now, I am sorry for the death of your child.”

Angrod hung his head.  “It has been a long time since I have thought of that loss, and yet, I suppose the sorrow of a child I never knew will always be with me.”  He looked up again. “I think you well know that Fingon was once my dearest friend, and I, his. At my wedding, he attended me. We had such marvelous adventures together--my brother, Fingon, and I.  As you know, part of the duties of an attendant relate to the safety and caring of the children of those they attend to. The second father, so to speak. I knew that Fingon had within him the desire to care for children, though there was an expectation he would have none of his flesh.  Eldalótë and I had plans for a sizable family--at least four, more if Eru willed it. Part of me felt betrayed in the moment. Fingon could do just about anything if he put his mind to it--so how was it that my child was dead on his watch?”

Gildor placed his arm around Angrod’s shoulders. “In times of great distress there is a deep need to find something or someone to blame. The mind does not wish to accept that...well, shit happened. If I could ask a personal favor, talking to him about this would help more than you realize. You moved on but in some ways Fingon did not. That was probably unprofessional of me to reveal, but I love him as family, too.”

“I am hoping that this is an opportunity for me to make amends.  I almost did not come today, but your father convinced me that I should,” said Angrod.    

“My father is very wise,” Gildor admitted. “I did not appreciate how much until far later in my life.”

“The apple does not fall far from the tree,” said Angrod.  “Do I yet have time to seek out my son? Before the ceremony, that is.”

“Oh, definitely! Not to mention you will place a glow of happiness on his already beautiful face. Thank you for the chat, Uncle. I will be rooting for your project, and I definitely want stories later on!” No one could blame his ear to ear grin. No one rational, anyhow.

Angrod would not need to travel far to find Glorfindel, for sitting at the mushroom stools were Glorfindel and Finrod, enjoying the shade of one of the umbrellas and drinking some sort of alcohol-free concoction provided by Celebrían.  “So, tell me, nephew, what are the plans you and your husbands have for your estate? And is there any chance we might see you on the mainland anytime soon? I would love to offer you and Erestor a tour of Haven. It is so much different now than when you left.”

“I…” Glorfindel smiled and shook his head. “It seems to shift around quite a lot. I thought maybe Fingon would need to care for business on the mainland. Maedhros also, so we thought they would travel together? But Fingon has been a little under the weather, so…” he shrugged. “Erestor has accepted a new position, and I am sure vacation now would be frowned upon. If I do not paint I do not sell paintings, and we need the income. Then there is the garden here and housework and cooking, and animals needing care. It is a lot to keep up with. I hope to see more at some point, uncle. But there has been a great deal of...there have been difficulties...I...I do not know how to talk about all of what has happened. If I say one thing I have to say everything or what will make sense is nothing. We will get there at some point. Right now is just a lot to manage.”

“Say only what you are comfortable saying,” advised Finrod.  “Have you considered trying to acquire funds with this residence?  I know Erestor spoke of making this a school, but perhaps you need not go that far.  There are those who would pay a fine price to have an event on this lawn, or on your roof, or in that grand ballroom you have.  Or, perhaps the school route with a twist. Consider, if this was a safe haven for others like yourselves, for youths with questions and in some cases, families who are embarrassed by them, offer them a roof and food and peace and understanding in exchange for their help with the farming and whatever other tasks there are--cleaning, cooking, and so on.  This gives you more time to paint.”

Glorfindel thought for a moment. “I like that idea. But much of it is that our household is in a state of transition. Gildor and Maedhros were here for a vacation. That vacation became permanent. No one expected this but it happened. Perhaps your idea will be an extension of the current evolution of our family. We never thought of those ideas for income, though. I certainly will mention it at an appropriate time.” Glorfindel smiled. “I wish you were nearer. Always you have been kind to me. Kind to us,” he corrected.

Finrod smiled and patted Glorfindel’s hand as Angrod walked up and joined them on one of the mushroom stools.  “Ah, brother, where have you been?” asked Finrod.

“Here and there.  I was hoping I might speak with my son for a moment.”

“By all means.” Finrod stood up and nodded to Glorfindel.  “That invitation is open for whenever you next make it to the mainland,” he said, and then he walked away.

“Father,” Glorfindel said softly, with a shy and nervous smile. Instinctively his hands folded in his lap, and his body involuntarily tried to tense. He felt dismayed at the unwanted reaction, but realized how hard it was to remember--and believe--things had changed. “How have you been?”

“I have been busy.  And you?” Angrod wiped his palms on his pants.

“Similar. Mostly. Sort of. Trying to keep up, really. There is...a lot has happened since Gildor and Maedhros came to visit. Before that was, uhm...that was a lot, too, but…” Forcing his mouth shut because this was at best nervous babbling, he shook his head. “Relationship stuff,” he mumbled, fairly certain that all of it would be about as interesting to Angrod as discussing yarn colors. He looked to the side, finding it difficult to meet his father’s eyes.

Angrod nodded his head up and down, choosing to look in a different direction.  “Relationships can be difficult.”

A few feet away, Finrod wiped his hand over his face.  “This is almost as painful to watch as it must be to partake in,” he whispered to his wife.

Amarië, who had been eavesdropping with her husband, handed him her beverage and closed the gap between her and the nervous pair sitting on the mushrooms.  “Excuse the interruption. I thought I might break the ice for the two of you.” She took a seat without asking if it was taken and reached out to take hold of Glorfindel’s hand.  “Have your father and my husband explained what they have been up to lately?” As Amarië asked this, the husband in question hurried over and opened his mouth as if he was about to keep her from revealing anything.  Amarië raised a finger up, glared at him, and made some odd noises in the back of her throat that caused Finrod to take a step back and shut his mouth.

“I…” Glorfindel looked up, glancing from Amarië to Finrod to Angrod with confusion. “I have not heard from either of them since they visited me at Elrond’s. When I was injured. I know nothing about anything.” He was not able to fully remove the hurt from his voice, though he tried very hard.

  
  
  


Amarië rubbed his hand with her own.  “Neither of them are good at correspondence.  My own husband has been known to go a decade without writing to his own son.”

“You tell him everything in your letters,” Finrod said under his breath, but a moment later the same finger was held up at him and he huffed.  Angrod’s mouth twitched slightly at watching his older brother being silently taken to task.

“While that does not excuse this lack of communication, it explains it a little.  Furthermore, they have been on a mission of their own making, and they have been so confident that they will succeed that they did not want to say anything until they did.  However, that has gone on now for years, and I think they should explain themselves now. If not the whole of it, in part, at least.”

“Years,” Glorfindel echoed sadly. “I...am entirely lost. Though, I did not write either. It is still really hard for me to believe that the lives of a bunch of gays and oil painting would be of any possible interest so…” He shrugged.

Finrod set the drinks he had been holding onto the nearby table.  “We were going to tell you sooner, but--”

“No, Finrod,” spoke up Angrod.  “I need to tell him.” Angrod gripped his own knees, and then, with coaxing from Amarië, swapped seats with her so that he could sit close to Glorfindel.  “I should have told you sooner, but I thought I would only be getting your hopes up, and if I failed, I did not want you to think worse of me. Your uncle and I have been trying to obtain your belongings back from Faelion.  We are...getting creative at this point.”

“You what?” Glorfindel repeated again, immediately discomfited to hear that name. “Why? Why would...I would never think worse of someone for trying to help me, though for this I might have felt...he will not just hand them over if asked to?” The blue-green eyes hardened instead of feeling fear. That selfish prick could not hurt him now, and he had not remembered the things he left behind. Except now he did, and his brow furrowed with irritation.

“Tried that first,” said Finrod.  “He laughed at us and slammed the door in our faces.”

“Actually, he had the butler slam the door on us, after he accused us of trespassing.”  Angrod, who had placed his hand upon his breast after Glorfindel’s first few words, lowered it now.  “For a moment, I feared you were unhappy with us.”

“No. I am...overwhelmed that you would do something like that for me. Thank you.” His eyes twinkled with happiness. “It was very kind of you, father and uncle. One of these days that insufferable wretch will get what he deserves. In the meantime, I had quite forgotten what I left behind. He felt so free to do as he wished with anything pertaining to me, including me. Some part of me believed he had just sold my things off for money for his precious acting.”

The three older elves exchanged looks back and forth until Angrod said, “There is more to the story, but I do not want to ruin the mood of this day.  On the other hand, I do not want to withhold anything more from you.”

“How about a compromise?” Glorfindel smiled, like sun emerging from behind clouds. “Tell me tomorrow? I mean, if you still will be here?” He instinctively reached toward Angrod before checking himself. “May I hug you?” the blond asked softly with a measure of bashfulness.

“You should never need ask permission for that, my son.”  Angrod stretched his arms out.

“This is still hard for me to believe, father,” Glorfindel said shakily. “I often believe that I must have dreamed it, or feel afraid that it will turn out not to be really true. I did not know why you did not communicate with me, and feared you had somehow changed your mind. I am sorry.” He closed his eyes seeking to find his equilibrium. “Please do not think badly of me.”

“This is our cue,” Finrod decided as he retrieved the drinks.  Amarië placed her hands upon Glorfindel’s shoulders a moment, kissed the top of his golden head, and left with her husband.

“I hope you will not think ill of me for my lack of communication.  I think, in part, I thought your hasty departure back here was to put distance between us, to give you time to think about things,” said Angrod.  “I did not expect you would not travel back to the mainland in all this time. Still, I should have written, and not expected we would catch up in a visit face-to-face.  Else, I could have come here to visit you--then again, I did not know if that would even be welcomed. Pardon; I am meandering with my words.”

“Now I feel so foolish,” Glorfindel said, moving further into his father’s embrace when he perceived he was wanted. “A lot happened, father. I was very depressed for a long time. I did not really believe Erestor and Fingon wished for me to be with them. There was a lot of talking that took place over a course of years. Erestor and I renewed our bond, and later Fingon and Erestor bonded. And then...Fingon and I. I love them, father, and they love me. We have had to struggle about income and employment. Just...things. And then Gildor and Maedhros came, and more than I can say in a few moments transpired. They are staying here, Gildor and Mae. We are becoming a family, working together and helping each other through difficulty and things that have happened to us in our lives. You are welcome here, father. All of you are. Though...I worry that if how I am is difficult to embrace, that we are more so now. I did not know Gildor invited you, but here you are. I feel very happy, about that. Like all of this might be accepted, by you. I am happier than I have ever been, but my family was still missing.”

All the while that Glorfindel spoke, Angrod tightened his embrace on his son.  He took a moment before responding, and did so in this manner: “I still do not know how you can forgive me for all I did to you.”  Slowly, Angrod sat up a little so that he and Glorfindel could look each other in the eyes. “It has been made known to me that you are somewhat aware that you were not the first child your mother and I conceived.”  Angrod rubbed the back of his neck. “When your mother was pregnant with you, she was certain she was carrying a son. I kept begging Eru, the Valar, and anyone else I thought might have power over such things to allow your mother to birth not only you, but to give your stillborn sister a second chance.  When you were born...I felt it was my fault. I made mistakes. At the time, I thought I was doing what was best.”

“Mistakes, because I am both sexes?” Glorfindel asked. “I have had...troubles. First because of the surgery I never knew of, to close my vagina. Then later, because of what Faelion did to me to re-open it. I menstruate, father. I have a womb. But I also have a penis, and testicles. I have sired a child. At long last I accept my body. I have a husband who loves me both as a man and a woman, though I identify as male more strongly. I believed for a long time that how I am was why you hated me. You wanted something, and you got me instead.” Glorfindel shrugged. “I had no control over this. But now if I were to change it, to choose one gender or another, I would no longer be myself.”

So many thoughts bombarded Angrod; too many emotions to reconcile simultaneously.  With his fingers pressed against the side of his head, Angrod asked, “You fathered a child?  I knew nothing of a grandchild by you,” he said softly.

“In Gondolin. Erestor and I had sham marriages to keep me from being discovered by Turgon; homosexuals or ‘the unclean’ as he called them were under a death sentence. My wife asked for a child and I agreed. It was difficult for me to be with a woman but it happened. Our son Indelion was born. He was beautiful in every way. Indelion and Tauniel died in an accident when he was still quite young. I have never forgotten him. Erestor and I raised other children we adopted but...Indelion was my son.” Tears formed that Glorfindel wiped away; the memory would always bring pain. “I am sorry you could not have seen him. Blond hair, and bright blue eyes.  He was...he was my everything, and then, he was gone.”

“I am sorry,” offered Angrod.  “I understand only too well the pain of the loss of a child.  You and I, we may be more similar than we realize.” He, too, drew a finger across the lids of his eyes.  “If it is not too much to ask, I would like you to tell me of him some day. I want to learn more about you, too.  There was much I missed of your life--too much. Perhaps...perhaps, since your mother and I are here already, we could extend our stay, at least by a few days.  Of course, we will find a room in town--I do not want to interrupt your routines.”

“Why would you do that?” Glorfindel asked, genuinely taken aback. “There are more rooms than...than anyone knows what to do with. I can cook and so can Fingon and so can Elrond and Celebrían, too...and you have not even met my horse, father. Asfaloth. He is one of the best things ever to have happened to me.”

“Oh, no, I...I met your horse,” Angrod said.  “He asked if we brought any mares, then asked who we were, then told us who he was, sang your praises, and threatened to...make plops on my feet if I made you upset while here.  I would very much like to stay here as would your mother, I am sure...I just did not want to impose. Everyone has their routines and their need for personal space.”

“Father, gay does not mean insatiable. Well, alright, maybe it does for Gildor, but we expect to have guests that need to stay longer. You are not just guests, you are my family. As for Asfaloth...I would like to tell you it is not always like that but it is. If you give him sugar or braid his hair with flowers, his opinion of you will rise dramatically but you do not have to admit hearing that from me. I am...I feel so happy right now. All I ever wanted was your love.”

“You have my love, Glorfindel.  Come here,” he coaxed, gently pulling him back into a hug.  “And, for the record, I meant imposing because of food and just generally extra people around.  Remember, I knew Fingon and Maedhros long before you were born. Compared to most everyone else, they were...well, we are adults, using adult words...they were the most sexually conservative of the entire lot of us.”

Glorfindel stared, blinked, and laughed with complete openness. “Did not expect that, father. I will learn, as will you. I am usually a very unguarded person. Sometimes too much so. I have little artifice. I hope you will talk to my husband about what happened between you long ago. He holds my heart and I do not want there to be strife between you.” The beautiful smile with the dimples continued. “I think we are pretty tame, honestly. You know, that way. Oh, listen to me. Please stay, and we will talk later. I am probably being excoriated by Gildor for not being somewhere helpful.”

“That Gildor over there?” asked Angrod as he pointed not too far away, where Gildor and Asfaloth were matching each other shot for shot while some of the younger members of the family encircled them, cheering them on.

“Should the horse actually be drinking?” Glorfindel frowned, biting his lip. “Uhm, would you please excuse me? This could lead to a lot of unwanted equine pregnancy.” With a final hug to Angrod, Glorfindel was determined to find out what was going on, and was really hoping that the beverage being downed was non-alcoholic.

“So, as previously discussed,” Gildor was explaining at Glorfindel approached, “most drinks served in shot glasses have names you would not repeat to your parents.  That last one is given the delightful name of ‘slippery nipple’, while this one,” he said, lifting his glass simultaneously as Asfaloth lifted his, “is called ‘a kick to the dick’.”  The pair clinked glasses together, and downed their drinks.

Asfaloth gave an obvious shudder after.  “That was terrible!” he exclaimed, much to the delight of their onlookers. “Which one is next?!”

“What is going on here?” Glorfindel demanded. “Gildor? What is he being given? He is not an elf! And do not tell me ‘nipples and dicks’.”

“Oh...oh, right, these are probably bad for horses,” Gildor said.  He was holding a drink in each hand, and almost instantly downed each in succession.     
  


“Awww! I wanted to try that one,” Asfaloth pouted as he clunked his knuckles together.  His movements were slightly slower than normal. “At least tell me what I missed,” he begged Gildor, who was pulling a face, one eye open and one closed.

“That one was ‘passed out naked on the bathroom floor’,” Gildor said.  Then he hiccuped.

“No. No, no no no no no! You are going to be a very important feature in a wedding, very soon, and you are not going before Elrond a drunken wretch. Afterward, I will let you swim in the bottle if that is really your desire. Do not require me to become insistent, please. This is a joyful day, which is why I may even be able to overlook that you are sousing my horse.” Glorfindel bodily stood in Gildor’s way to keep him from finding any more glasses of liquid.

Gildor, still holding onto both glasses, pointed one finger of each hand at Glorfindel.  “Why do you think I am drinking?” He sighed as Asfaloth removed the glasses from his grasp and then shooed away the crowd that had been around them.  “Sorry--I was going to have one drink and I got a little carried away.”

“Maedhros does not need this, Gildor,” Glorfindel reminded him softly though audibly enough for Finrod and Angrod and Amarië, who had sidled closer while others had scattered. “You know what he is trying to do. If something is troubling you, I am here. So are your father and mother. I promise we are better than alcohol.”

“I am troubled by the fact I am untroubled.”  Gildor laughed at the situation. “For once, everything is going so well, I am just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Oh honey,” Glorfindel said, pulling Gildor into a hug. “That is not going to happen. I know it is not. There is going to be love and happiness and our gratitude to see such joy between two who love each other so much. You have done a great thing, Gildor. I mean it. If you are having trouble I will hold your hand or stand beside you from here until the rings are exchanged, if that is what you need. You were there for me most all of my life except for the dead part. It is the least I can do in return.”

“Thank you, sweetness.  I think it might be rather impossible for us to hold hands the entire time, but I will take a few hugs now and maybe a little something after the ceremony is over.”  Gildor nuzzled Glorfindel and relaxed a little. “Eru, those drinks were awful.”

Glorfindel shot a pleading look in the direction of his blood family. “Can someone make sure Asfaloth is okay?” His attention returned to Gildor. “Come with me, loverboy. We are going to get some water in you, and I will hope that horses cannot vomit.” With an arm around Gildor, he ushered him away from all things mixed drink.

\---

“Knock knock.”  Erestor gently knocked on the door as he opened it.  Fingon yawned and kept his eyes squeezed shut. “Good afternoon,” he whispered, and Fingon groaned in greeting.  “How are you feeling?”

“Not bad.”  Fingon yawned again.  “My mouth itches inside, but Elrond told me it might while it heals.  I have a slight...something...maybe a headache or…” Fingon bent his head to the side and his neck cracked.  “Much better,” he said as he sat up.

“Now, before you get out of bed,” cautioned Erestor, “I have some information for you.  There is an event to happen here today, and we did not say anything because we did not want you to worry over it while you were healing.”

“What kind of event?” asked Fingon.

“A wedding,” said Erestor.  

Fingon blinked a few times, waking up a little faster.  “Whose wedding?”

“Orchestrated by Gildor.  It is a secret; and this is where you come in.  We need you to ready Maedhros, and because it is a secret, you must not tell him it is a wedding.”

“Oh...hmm...I think I can do that,” Fingon said.  “I enjoy a good challenge.”

Erestor smiled.  “That was why we thought you would be the best candidate.  He obviously knows something is going on, because we have some guests here--”

“Is his father here?”

For a moment, Erestor ground his teeth, but then he nodded.  “As is his mother, and his brothers.”

Fingon made a few irritated noises, and then nodded slowly.  “Of course. Well, I am going to be on my best behavior for such a day.  I doubt I will have reason to speak to him, or he to me. So, what are we going to tell Maedhros is going on?”

“His family is already on the roof, and he did not see them come in.  There are other guests who have arrived, but Gildor just keeps telling Maedhros ‘it is a surprise’.  So...can you possibly stall him until just before dusk? Tell him anything, just get him ready and keep him in this room.”

Fingon was already out of the bed and using the chamber pot.  “I suppose I should wear something appropriate as well,” he remarked.

“Glad you agree.  Because everything has been so fast, and you were recovering, Glorfindel and I took it upon ourselves to find something for you.  I think it should fit.” Erestor exited a moment, took a package from Aredhel, who stood in the hallway, completely silent with a massive grin on her face, and brought it into the room.  “I think you will be able to figure out what is yours and what is his.”

Fingon gave a half-salute, his back still to the door.  “I shall not disappoint. I love--” The door clicked shut. “--you.”  Fingon looked over his shoulder, looked at the package on the bed, and finished his business at the chamberpot.  Before he could open the package and explore the contents, there was a knock on the door. “By order of the King, enter,” he said.

Maedhros peeked in, and then slid inside, lest Fingon catch a glimpse of the still grinning, still eavesdropping sister in the hall.  “Erestor said I should come here. I assume this has to do with Gildor’s ‘surprise’.”

“Maybe,” Fingon said coyly.  “I have before me, a package with clothing for the evening.”

“That seems like a big package,” said Maedhros.

Fingon, who had his hands on his hips, and was still naked, slyly said, “That is what everyone tells me.”

“Mmm...and they are not wrong,” appraised Maedhros.

“Go ahead and open it,” encouraged Fingon as he retrieved a robe.  “There are garments for both of us inside.”

Carefully, Maedhros untied the strings holding the bundle closed and once these were freed, eagerly plundered his way into the rest of it. His eyebrows raised. “Oh yes. Yes, I think I can manage with these. Finya, the fuck is really going on? This must be some amazing surprise.”

“If I told you, it would not be a surprise,” Fingon responded in the most adorable way possible, which included flopping on his stomach onto the bed and resting his chin on his hands.  “Hold it up and let me see. Because I was recovering, I did not have the pleasure to see any of it ahead of time.”

“Well, since you were such a very good boy,” Maedhros drawled. He held up the main garment. “This one, I believe, is meant for me if the length is any indication.” With one hand he held it up by the neck, while the other shook out the fabric. A deep red damask robe greeted their eyes, embroidered at the hem, neck and sleeves with jewel tones and gold. A matching tunic of silky material in black was also provided, and a surcoat of copper tones, edged with thin black cord. “What do you think?”

“Yes...very nice.  I mean, I like it. I know you are more trousers, less robes, but hopefully this is still something you will consider wearing?  Must be a formal occasion,” Fingon could not help but tease.

“When robes look this good, I will more than consider wearing them. I suspect my sweetie Gildor might have picked these out. He has an eye for color, you know. And, before I become distracted, how are you feeling? Better?”

“No headache, no hurting, just some itching, which Elrond said is normal.  I had to look up the meaning of the word--no one ever calls me normal. My neck hurt when I woke, but I think I just slept in the wrong position.”  Fingon reached out a hand and pawed at the unrevealed items. “What else is hiding in there?”

“Let us see,” Maedhros smirked, drawing up a second set of garments. “Oh my. What have we here? A rather similar robe,” he intoned. “But in gold. Gold the color of Glorfindel’s hair. Look at the pattern, how it catches the light.” Pausing, he walked to drape it across Fingon’s body. “Mmm. Matches your eyes, I think. Wait. There is more.”

Maintaining his mien of mischievous mystery, Maedhros displayed the tunic and surcoat. The former was a cerulean tone, the latter leaned toward midnight blue. The heraldry of the once High King had been cleverly worked into the design. “If there was any question of what is for which of us, this settles the matter. Look. For my king, Finya. I just may have received my surprise without leaving the room. Seeing you put this on will be entirely gratifying.”

Feeling almost guilty about the smile on his lips at the compliment, Fingon carefully rolled in such a way to make the clothing land on the bed, and him, off in a crouch.  He rose up and smoothed his hand over the front of the robe. “I have an idea. I need to get some--well, not need to, but should--get some undergarments from the closet. I will dress in there, and you can dress out here, and we can surprise each other,” suggested Fingon as he began to pick up the items meant for him.

“Awwww,” pouted Maedhros. “I had such a mental vision of enrobing you myself. But if you really do not wish it…”

Fingon held out the robe.  “In that case, I will be right back,” he said as he went to the closet.  A moment later, he poked his head out. “Unless, you think I should go without the undergarments. That could be our little secret surprise,” he snickered.

“I would not tell a living soul,” Maedhros smiled, making little sewing motions over his lips, complete with knot.

“Tempting…” Fingon ran his finger along his bottom lip and then sauntered back over to Maedhros.  “I should wash up in the basin first. Does your offer extend to assisting me with that?” Part of him felt he was crossing a line, on today of all days, however, Erestor had challenged him with the task of keeping Maedhros in the room, and if the banging around on the stairway to the roof was any indication, Fingon was going to have to do everything in his power to keep Maedhros from peeking out into the hall.

A noise outside caused Maedhros to partially rise in the direction of the door, then pause, looking back at the tempting morsel that was Fingon. “I feel like I really should investigate what is making that racket, but if you are offering a chance to worship your body...I can hardly pass up an opportunity. I love you, Finya.”

Caught between temptation and not wanting to awkwardly ruin the day, Fingon reminded himself that he most certainly could and would control himself, especially since he was still on the edge of recovery.  “We should both clean up,” he said sagely. “We keep some towels in here… just a moment…” Fingon returned to the closet as a clatter made him look upwards with wide eyes. It nearly sounded as if they were moving an entire harpsichord onto the roof.  He shot out of the closet to make sure Maedhros was still in the room. “Uh...maybe you could help me wash my hair, too? It should dry in time...not always the case...I can reach out to Erestor and ask him to bring more water so that we can stay here.”

“Oh. Oh, I would like that very much,” Maedhros said with considerable enthusiasm. “My hands. That thick head of hair. Right ne-- how about I just say ‘Yes,’ and leave it at that?”

“Good, because I already asked Erestor to bring up more water.”  Fingon found a light bath robe for Maedhros. “Here. You can wear this so that you do not get your finery or what you have on now damp.”

Without asking, Maedhros stripped his clothing off, delighted to have two hands with which to do so. With extreme slowness and some gratuitous modeling of his figure, he at last donned the robe.

A knock came at the door, and Celebrían entered along with Erestor.  She had a large empty wooden bucket, while Erestor had warm water. “And shampoo,” Erestor offered as he pulled a bottle from his pocket and handed it to Fingon.  A kiss on the cheek was all there was time for before Erestor and Celebrían hastily made their way back to the hall. An oddly melodic crash was heard above.

“I swear they are taking an elk up those steps,” said Fingon as he tried to set up a suitable place for the basins to go.

“Piece by piece, apparently.  I have learned to put nothing past Gildor,” Maedhros said whilst looking up, shaking his head. “In the meantime, allow me. Now, how is it best to do this? You, on your knees, bending low over the basin, I think, so I can see the elegant curve of your spine--I mean make sure that all the water goes into the basin.” The redhead batted his eyes innocently.

A shiver ran up said spine.  “Alright,” agreed Fingon. He moved to the basin, unfastened his robe, and wadded it up so that he could kneel upon it.  “Like this?” he asked, his hands resting on the basin.

“Yes,” Maedhros purred. “Absolutely.” Two fingers traced from the cleft of his buttocks along each side of the vertebrae, while the taller ellon arranged himself so as not to make a mess of everything. Those two fingers slowed as they came close to the hairline, and then all of the digits combed the fluffy hair forward over his head. With care, a dipper provided a small stream of the warm water, worked in a little at a time in order to moisten the hair and scalp thoroughly. Then shampoo was introduced, and both hands luxuriously massaged the lather everywhere. Pinkies shot out with some regularity to whisk barely over an ear, or to move a wisp of suds there instead.

Fast losing the control he thought he had, Fingon gripped the sides of the basin tighter.  Never had anything felt so intimate with Maedhros. Not the nights spent in each other’s arms nor the secret meetings in caves or attics when they were beyond their majorities, yet living in their parents’ houses. Bent over as he was, he knew his arousal was unseen, but he also knew that most of his body was exposed to Maedhros, and that included the rush of red along his neck and the tremor of his shoulders every time his ears felt the lightest of sensations.

Bubbles, it turned out, were merciless.

“Sweetheart, you are beautiful to me. So beautiful,” Maedhros breathed, lost in his own wonder. Touching his lover with two hands after all that had divided them--the emotions felt overwhelming, and he was glad of Fingon’s requirement to remain in this position. It hid the tears that fell from his eyes and merged with the cleansing mixture. “I think I have done this enough. I will rinse your hair now, unless you usually cleanse twice?”

“Up...up to you,” came the tremulous reply.  As amorous as Fingon was feeling, there was another emotion he had not felt in some time.  There was a peaceful surrender to this act--putting his full trust in another, and placing himself in such a vulnerable position.  Why was it so hard to do that with anyone except Maedhros?  

The answer came in the form of a memory, flickering in his mind, of the first time he had placed himself in an unguarded state.  Beneath the pine tree, the night Fingon said no, and Maedhros, instead of responding with the harshness that his coach, his healer, and others before them had told him when he squirmed away or whimpered at their touches, Maedhros replied with the kindest words Fingon had heard.

_ Never be afraid to tell me no. _

Fingon wondered for a moment if he should be unafraid to say ‘yes’.  He let out a sigh, and then, he thought of Gildor. Gildor, whom he had convinced himself he would hate when he learned of his bonding with Maedhros, and who was now a presence that Fingon could not fathom living without.  “Thank you,” he said somewhat belatedly to Maedhros. “I feel extra better now with clean hair.”

Maedhros grimaced. “Oh. Whoops. When you did not answer I decided to err on the side of extra cleanliness. I know sometimes you have been annoyed that your hair was oily and I wanted it to be very nice for you. I could try to scrape the shampoo off but...it seems wasteful. May I just keep going?”

“Yesss...I mean, please, your words are wise.”  Fingon squeezed his eyes shut.  _ Might as well just ask him to fuck me right here while I am at it.  Already in the right position.  _ That thought caused an unexpected little grunt to issue forth, and Fingon swallowed hard, hoping Maedhros had not heard, but knowing he had, for of course now of all times was when there were no wayward noises above.

Maedhros paused, elegantly bending himself so he could confirm what he now suspected existed. “Finya...I want you to close your eyes. Raise your body, and unless you tell me no I want to take you in my mouth and ease your need. I very much want to, baby. You need not even move.”

“I want--”  Fingon cut himself off.  No. Not that, not today.  It was not fair to Gildor. But this...what Maedhros offered...he offered.  Maedhros was intelligent. He had to have some idea by now what was going on anyhow, right?  Right. And he offered. Fingon positioned himself as Maedhros suggested, indeed, barely moving.  “I want this,” he confirmed with a groan.

“As do I.” Without another word, Maedhros leaned down and took the substantial endowment into his mouth, drawing Fingon in deep. His hands held Fingon’s hips firmly while he relaxed his throat. Taking a moment to accustom himself, he moved Fingon in and out, and indicated by gesture that if he wished to thrust he had an invitation.

One of Fingon’s hands moved to massage Maedhros’ scalp and play with his radiant red hair while the other kept him steady at the basin.  Instead of sudden thrusts, Fingon rolled his hips, undulating rhythmically, and hoping very hard that no one thought to check on them, for he knew the door to be closed yet unlocked.

Maedhros focused only on what pleasure he could give. When certain he could manage it, he began to move his tongue from side to side. A chill of anticipation moved through his body. He never had before tried out a position of quite such submission, though this was not the first time they had engaged in this particular activity. He found it thrilling, and knew that when their time came it would be wonderful. What should have been. Then his mind switched to Gildor, and how often his love gave him this pleasure in turn. The thoughts, his hands holding the cherished body. Surely he would burst with little provocation beyond a stroke or two of his own hand.

It was a task in itself to keep from making noises of passion which might alert those passing by the room in the hallway that something other than general party preparation was happening within.  With how good Maedhros was making Fingon feel, it seemed only fair to reciprocate if he could. Fingon employed his flexibility, and while still balancing all weight upon one knee, he moved his other leg back.  His foot sought out his target, and with a happy little moan, Fingon slid his toes back and forth along Maedhros’ engorged length. It surprised him, and yet not, that he could blindly find his mark without guidance, so well did he know Maedhros’ body, just as Maedhros obviously knew his.

“Mmmmmmmmmmfff,” came in a soft groan that assuredly Fingon felt in a sensitive place. Shuddering, Maedhros gasped in the face of his impending release. Low, guttural sounds that could not be heard beyond the door poured from him. If possible, he pulled Fingon in deeper.

Now Fingon bent his body not only to better reach with his foot, but so that he could plunge deeply into the moist heat that Maedhros offered him.  The toes of his other foot curled as Fingon felt the flow within him, and the release that caused his body to thrust in abandon. “Ughn..ughn..” Fingon gritted his teeth and tried to lower his voice, but everything felt so damned good.  “Maitimo...I love you…”

Helpless, shaking, Maedhros’ seed rushed onto the floor while he took in what Fingon gave. When he felt Fingon’s member soften and relax, he allowed it to slip from his mouth, resting his head a moment on the firm thighs. A few tears streaked down his cheeks. “Love you too, Finya,” he said raggedly. “In just a moment I will finish washing your hair. I promise.”

Uncaring that he risked suds hitting the floor, Fingon adjusted his position so that he could lie atop Maedhros.  He kissed along the damp streaks on Maedhros’ face and finally, when the tears were gone, sweetly upon his mouth. “Take all the time you need,” he whispered, and after a second kiss, delving his tongue into Maedhros’ mouth, knowing he risked the taste of his own essence, but so moved by Maedhros’ actions he did not care.  

It indeed had an effect on Maedhros, who now fully assessed the sheer amount of bubbles that covered them.  It was truly a wonder that Fingon did not have soap in his eyes from all of their antics. He ran a finger through the slick foam on Fingon’s arm, a dollop that no doubt had fallen from his hair.  “This does not seem to be the proper use of shampoo,” he joked as a shout and a thump sounded above them.

Fingon scooped up the lather that had landed on his own chest.  “Neither is this,” he said as he reached between them and curled his fingers, mindful of the time, but worried about the noises coming from the roof.

“Fin...we...oh...not proper but appreciated!” Maedhros found himself on his back, his head on the pair of trousers Fingon had been kneeling upon not long ago.  

An attempt was made by Fingon to kneel over Maedhros as he stimulated him, but the suds on the floor made it slippery, and Fingon landed askew atop Maedhros.  Bodies aligned, Fingon blushing and at a loss for words, Maedhros reached his hand out and stroked Fingon’s cheek. “Fin? Sweetheart?”

Fingon groaned and rested his head against Maedhros’ shoulder.  “What I want right now I cannot have,” he whispered.

Maedhros closed his eyes and fully embraced Fingon.  “Relax,” he said as he snaked a hand up and kneaded the back of Fingon’s neck.  “Close your eyes. Breathe. Just breathe. Good. Now, sleep. Do not worry,” he immediately added as Fingon tensed.  “I will not let us miss whatever we are to attend later. I just want you to relax and sleep for me,” he said soothingly.

\---

Fingon opened his eyes again in the dreamworld.  He was on his back, looking up at the star-filled sky.  There was no moon, and the stars were brighter than he had ever seen.  He turned his head, and saw Maedhros beside him. Only then did Maedhros open his eyes.  

They were so close to one another, naked on the ground, nestled in soft blades of fresh grass.  Fingertips touched, and Fingon asked, “Where are we?”

Maedhros slowly sat up as he twined his hand with Fingon’s.  “I think this is Cuiviénen,” he whispered.  

“So...this is our awakening?” guessed Fingon.

“Perhaps it is,” Maedhros answered.  He looked down at Fingon. “A new beginning.”

As Maedhros laid back down, Fingon stared upwards.  “What do you think they thought, those first Elves, when they saw all this?”

Maedhros focused on a particularly bright cluster of five stars he picked out in the sky before he turned his head to look at Fingon.  “I am sure they thought they were seeing the most beautiful sight they would ever see, until they found what was right beside them.”

Fingon turned his head to look at Maedhros.  He swallowed hard. “I wish I were not so afraid.”

Maedhros’ chin twitched and he blinked rapidly.  “I wish I could take all that from you. I wish I could make all of those thoughts and everything that happened to you go away.  I wish I could heal you.”

Fingon reached out and wiped away Maedhros’ tears.  “Maybe if we are here, at Cuiviénen, at the beginning of all things, then maybe none of those things exist.”

For a few minutes, Maedhros traced the fingers of his right hand over features that for so long he could only nudge with the scarred stump of his wrist.  Lips, cheekbones, nose, chin...Maedhros lingered at the ears and earned little sighs from his companion. “Then here we are, at the beginning of all. What would you have us do, Finya?”

“I cannot ask it of you,” whispered Fingon as his lips brushed over Maedhros’ finger.

“What if I give it without you asking?”

Fingon frowned.  “Not today.”

“Because it is the first day?” Maedhros asked.

Fingon shook his head.  “No. There is something else.”

Maedhros smiled, took up Fingon’s hand, and kissed his fingers gently.  “There can be nothing else, my love. There is nothing here now except you and I and the stars, and no time before except what few moments we know.  This is the beginning.” Maedhros kissed his fingers again. “Tell me what you want, and if it is within my power, you shall have it.”

“I...would...nhhnn...ppfff…”  Fingon huffed. “I want…”

Stone still, Maedhros gave Fingon a few moments more before he prodded with, “Whatever it is, name it.  Anything.”

“You know what it is,” Fingon replied as he looked upwards again.

Maedhros kissed each one of Fingon’s fingertips.  When he reached his thumb, he said, “I want to hear you say it.”

Fingon looked back at Maedhros.  His lips parted, mouth moving a few times, before finally the words came out.  “I want us to make love.”

“I want that, too.”  Maedhros did not need to stretch his neck very far to close the distance so that he could reach Fingon’s lips with his own.  The first kiss was barely tame; by the third, it was beyond chaste. Legs tangled with insistence and they pulled one another closer, tugged at hair, dug nails into skin, and pressed as close as they could get.

“I want you,” Fingon gasped when they parted for air.  “Want you inside of me,” he clarified with a tremble as he heard the words declared.  “Going to be different...this time...better…” He kissed and bit at Maedhros neck and shoulder.  “Please...please, I do not want to wait any longer,” he begged, no longer thinking about the day that would parallel in the waking world and repercussions to be dealt with later.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt that logically, Gildor would forgive him this indulgence.  

No, it was not an indulgence, it was a need.  A long suppressed need that caused Fingon, upon realization to cling to Maedhros for a different reason and sob.  “Honey. Honey, it is alright. Sweetheart. I understand. Shh, baby, I understand,” crooned Maedhros as he held Fingon tightly and rubbed his back.  “I need you, too. I need you. It hurts so much to be without you.”

In their dreamstate, they stayed that way for hours; in life, mere seconds passed.  When at last they were grounded, Maedhros gently moved them so that Fingon was on his back, the starfield seen all around the halo of red hair.  Through the residual tears, the stars seemed to stretch out, and looked as if they crowned Maedhros. There was calm; then, there was worry. “There is nothing for preparation.”

“Already, it has been done.  This is a dream, remember? All is as we wish it to be.”  And Maedhros proved his point as he slid a hand between Fingon’s legs, eased them apart, and breached his slick passage with a single finger.

Fingon arched his back, gasped, groaned, and pressed down.  Maedhros bit back a chuckle at the sudden impatience. “Better test again, just to be sure,” Maedhros said, and this time he used two fingers in his examination.

“Seems...seems fine to...yes...oh...yes, please!  Please! Now!” Fingon felt the blush over his cheeks spread down his neck and across his nose.  

Maedhros positioned himself over Fingon and looked down, their eyes locked on one another.  “I love you,” Maedhros said.

Fingon let the words caress his soul.  All of the thoughts of the past swirled around him.  So much history, so much drama--and so many lost opportunities.  “I am so sorry I hurt you,” Fingon said with tears in his eyes again.

Soft lips kissed away the salty droplets.  “You never hurt me, remember? This is the beginning.  We start anew from here.”

A single errant tear escaped and rolled around Fingon’s cheek to disappear into the grass as he closed his eyes.  “I love you,” he said as he bumped his forehead against Maedhros’ chest, and then opened his eyes again.

“I know,” Maedhros replied as he joined their bodies together.

\---

Less than an hour elapsed between the point they began their shared dream and the moment they both awoke again.  The only sign of their daydreamed coupling was their slightly labored breathing and their expressions. They spent a few moments of silence, with Fingon snuggling atop Maedhros, to get their bearings.  Fingon finally rose up a little and kissed Maedhros on the nose. No words seemed needed to express the mutual joy they experienced, and so Fingon kissed Maedhros once more, on the lips, which was accompanied by a hearty purr in the back of his throat before he resumed a position with his head over the basin again.  The water, of course, would be cool, but the residue had to come out one way or another.

A little lightheaded, Maedhros finished the sudsing, taking far less time than before. He was becoming somewhat conscious of the need to not have Fingon be sopping wet when at last they were summoned. Clean water was ladled to rinse the shampoo, followed by a conditioning concoction that Erestor favored. Then one more light rinse and a towel for his hair. He had Fingon drying it while he gently bathed the rest of the exposed skin with a damp cloth. Very soon he was pronounced as Passing Inspection.

“Now you,” said Fingon.  “We have not time for your hair, and the water is cold anyhow, but I should at least rub you down,” he suggested as he picked up a clean cloth and wrung it out in the water.

Still reeling, Maedhros nodded and sat in a chair, careful to avoid the small puddle of his own making. He wove his fingers into his hair to hold it off of his neck and back and leaned forward a little to allow Fingon easy access to most of his body. Closing his eyes again made it easier to try to govern unexpected emotions as he anticipated his lover’s touch. If he was fortunate, Fingon would not notice that his heart thundered in his chest, and yet it seemed absurd that he would not, for his pulse rattled in his ears quite audibly.

Fingon bit his lip and slowly worked his way over and around Maedhros’ body.  As he did so, he considered the symbolism of what he was doing--washing away the residual evidence of their coupling, cleansing Maedhros so that he could be wrapped up and presented to Gildor.  Again, a moment of guilt was upon him, but Fingon shook it off and carefully made sure he did not miss any part of Maedhros’ body. “I think you are almost clean--would you mind standing up so that I can get your backside?”

“Thank you,” was the polite answer, along with Maedhros rising off the chair. Genuinely not knowing what was wanted and figuring that Fingon meant to sanitize his intimate parts, he spread his legs widely and bent without being asked. The position, while not intended to put on a show, most assuredly did.

After a moment to center himself, Fingon wrung out the cloth and proceeded to finish his work, going so far as to carefully lift each of Maedhros’ legs, one after the other, to wipe off the bottom of his feet.  Once it was all completed, he kissed Maedhros’ shoulder and dropped the cloth back into the water. “All clean,” he declared, and could not help but place a handful of kisses on the side of Maedhros’ neck as he breathed deeply of the familiar scent.  “Time to get dressed.”

“Would you be my valet? Just this once?” Maedhros asked. “You always had a better sense of what everything is supposed to look like. I am the sort that can put trousers on backwards. I will of course return the favor.”

“It would be my honor,” said Fingon.  He began to assemble the pieces in an orderly fashion on the bed.  “I can fix your hair for you as well, if you like. Not that anything is wrong with it; only, that, if you would like me to do something special for you, I would enjoy that.”

“I would. I still cannot imagine what sweet Gildor has prepared, but if he is going to such fuss then it would mean a great deal to me that my appearance be as you favor it. I mean it, Finya. Make me as you desire me to be. You may use cosmetics if you wish. Please just...what Gildor would also like. I hope I am making some sense. Formal cosmetics, not party cosmetics.” He hung his head. “You have not yet begun to dress me and already I feel as though I have wedged footwear into my mouth rather firmly.”

“Really?  I mean, really about the cosmetics, not really about the shoe in your mouth.  I mean…” Fingon waved his hand for a moment. “I am going to make you look fabu--no, you already look fabulous.  Extra fabulous. I promise. Regal, not gaudy.” Fingon went to the dressing table and began to pull things from the little drawers.  “I promise, this is going to be a memorable night for you and Gildor!”

“Oh, I know it will,” Maedhros smiled in spite of himself. “I would entrust this to no one else. Now what do I do? Just sit here?” His eager voice lowered in depth. “Do I get eyeliner?”

Swallowing hard, Fingon turned back around.  He had a powder brush in one hand and a small container in the other.  “Yes,” he answered after giving Maedhros a shy look. “Um...I need gold,” he mumbled to himself as he went back to gathering supplies.

“Gold? I am already glad I asked,” Maedhros smiled, flinging his hair over his shoulder. “You know...I want to apologize for how I was long ago about the cosmetics and dressing up. I let my family get to me and then I became a complete grouch about something that should have stayed fun. Worse than a grouch. More like, a glaring malevolent pile of anger that would only sit in a corner and brood. I had to have ruined so many social occasions for you and I am sorry. I cannot take those times back, but while I may not always apply it myself from here on out I will never refuse the touch of your brush. Consider it my willing penance.”

Fingon twirled a finger around a lock of red hair so that Maedhros had to bend down after a moment, and was the recipient of several kisses on the lips.  “Alright. Stop me from doing that if I try that again, because we shall run out of time if I have to fix cosmetics because I kiss them off. Let us sit over here,” he directed, for there was a bench which would allow them to straddle it and face each other.

“I hear and obey,” Maedhros grinned. “No kisses. By extrapolation, no anything else either. Work your magic, Finya.”

Adopting a professional demeanor, Fingon gave gentle instructions such as ‘look this way’ and ‘chin up’ and ‘try not to blink’ as he carefully applied gold and copper highlights and edging.  Noticeable, but not glaringly obvious. He took into account the advice he had been given the night he and Glorfindel had been in town, and when he finished, he retrieved a mirror, which he handed to Maedhros.  “Sometime, I just want all of us to play around and have fun, but for tonight, I think a more conservative look.”

“Oh this is beautiful!” Maedhros blew a kiss at himself in the mirror. “Gildor is going to love what you have done here. I thank you, Fin. You know, I think I should get my clothes on so I can see what in hell is going on up there. The noise has had me a little concerned. I worry something will...I do not know, collapse or something.”

“All in good time,” rushed Fingon.  “My hair still needs to finish drying, and I have to get ready, too, you know,” he almost scolded.  He had artfully managed to place himself between Maedhros and the door, though, with them both still in the nude, it was doubtful either was going to leave the room just yet.  “And...actually…” Fingon bit his lip. “You stay right here. I have an idea,” he said as he grabbed the robe from earlier and hastily put it on. “Stay here. I will be right back.  Promise to stay?” he asked with his hand on the doorknob.

“Yes,” Maedhros said, appearing confused. “I give my word. May I sit down or must I remain exactly as I am?”

“Sitting, standing, your decision, so long as you stay here.”  Fingon blew a kiss before he disappeared into the hallway.

“Okay,” Maedhros said to the empty room, shrugging. Alone now, he picked up the mirror to have a second look, turning his head this way and that. “I like what I see,” he whispered, clasping the looking glass against himself and smiling.  _ Gildor! Sweetie! You have to see me. I look beautiful, sweetie. Fingon prettied me up and I cannot wait to show you.  _ No one was more surprised than he, to find himself saying these words.

_ Dearheart, that is so exciting--so, then, you have a surprise for me, too,  _ Gildor conveyed back.  He had just finished directing placement of the last chair and was now motioning for various parties to sit in particular sections.  Noticing a slight distraction, Erestor walked over and took over this task, allowing Gildor to duck around a potted plant that had been moved (with more than a little difficulty) to the rooftop.  _ I cannot wait to see you! _

_ I am blowing you kisses, sweet cheeks… _

_ Same to you, honeybun.  See you up here soon. I love you. _

The door opened, and Fingon scrambled back in, almost slamming the door shut.  He held a pillowcase stuffed with something in his hands. His cheeks were flushed pink, and in no need of rouge at the moment.  “Whew--no one in the hallway,” he said as he dropped down onto the bed.

“Do I want to know?” Maedhros asked carefully.

Clutching the pillowcase, Fingon licked his lips as he looked at Maedhros.  “I was thinking...you said it could just be our secret if I wore nothing under the robes...but what if this was our secret instead?”  Fingon reached into the pillowcase and revealed what he had smuggled back into the room. It was one of the corsets he had been keeping in the room once shared with Beleg, pale blue brocade and laced with ribbon.  The edges were decorated with lace the same color blue as the fabric, and there was gold and silver embroidery work as well. “Under these robes, no one should really be able to tell, right?”

“I cannot accept that,” Maedhros said, carefully taking the garment from Fingon’s hands. “For I will have no less than both secrets. Turn around, so I can put this on you.”

The slightest shiver ran up Fingon’s spine as he looked around in search of the best place in the room.  He settled on turning the chair so that he could place his hands on the back of it whilst facing away from Maedhros.  “It appeared to be the most intact of the ones I own. For some reason, I had it hanging in the closet all this time. I think moths must have gotten into that drawer where I kept the others.  There is all damage to the lace and fabric on the others, and the leather ones seem very stiff,” he said disdainfully.

Maedhros slipped the garment over Fingon’s upper body once the ties were sufficiently loosened, settling it into position. Suspiciously practiced fingers snugged up the lacings initially, until he was certain that the boning was in the proper position. Then, he adjusted them just a little tighter. “Now,” he whispered into the sensitive ear (but not close enough to cause arousal), “do you want the corset to be like this, just a little snug? Or do you truly wish to know that the garment is binding you.” With a dramatic yank of his poised fingers, he pulled on the laces hard, snugging them just shy of being painfully tight. “Whichever pleases you, and that will be our secret as well.”

The initial response was almost, ‘this is fine’, but Fingon knew he would be lying, and had he not made promises to be honest with his lover, and most importantly, with himself.  “Tighter, but not so much that I have to gasp for air,” Fingon said. “Please,” he added as he looked over his shoulder.

“I will tighten from the bottom grommets, and you tell me when to stop. Remember, Finya, ‘able to breathe’ with these can be very subjective. Indulge your fantasy, but remember I cannot loosen these for you once amongst other people. Ready?” Seeing Fingon’s nod, Maedhros began tensioning the laces once again, this time slower and after asking Fingon to partially inhale.

A dizzying sensation came upon Fingon as he felt the old familiarity creep upon him.  The cloth enveloped him, and he gripped the chair to keep steady. As unease tried to weasel into his thoughts, he chased off the fear of being discovered and the guilt of enjoying this feeling by quietly mouthing ‘go fuck yourselves’, and then concentrating on not laughing due to the ridiculousness of pseudo-saying the words.  “There,” he said suddenly as he was aware of a slight ache in his ribs. “A little less,” he added, recalling Maedhros’ earlier words of caution.

Quickly Maedhros loosened them a little (and then, since Fingon could not see, a little more after that). He was deeply worried about Fingon underestimating the constriction to his air intake. From all accounts, Fingon had done most of his experimenting while in bed or in other private, relaxed situations. Not in a gathering, and the last thing he wanted was for his lover to faint. That and, see the look on Elrond’s face when he examined what was the matter. No, the mere thought was not to be borne. “Better, sweetie?”

Fingon relaxed, though the corset kept him from slumping, slouching, or otherwise having anything but near perfect posture.  He was absolutely aware of the rigidity surrounding him, and it delighted him. Or perhaps the euphoria came from the restrictive intake of air.  He knew from past experience that his lungs would adjust, but there was still the knowledge that extreme activities, at least those requiring he be upright, were right out for the duration.  Next he walked back and forth a few paces, and finally, he stepped to the full length mirror off to the side of the room. He caught sight of his face first, and sighed heavily as he scratched the stubble on his chin.

“Ah--nearly forgot.  Personally, I find it is growing on me, but of course, there are guests, you want to look your best,” Maedhros said as he placed his hands upon Fingon’s shoulders and brought him back to sit down on the bed.  “We have water, we have soap, do we have a razor in here?”

“Second drawer on the left.”  Fingon stood up almost immediately and went to retrieve the tool.  He sat back down at the vanity, expecting to complete the task himself.  He looked a little shocked when Maedhros took the razor from his hand. “I thought--”

“I mean...I suppose you could...sorry.”  Maedhros began to hand the razer back.

“No.  I mean, not if you wanted to.  Unless you were just being nice,” said Fingon, who then cringed at his words.  

“Of course I am being nice, but I am being nice because I want to be,” Maedhros said.  He leaned down and kissed Fingon’s cheek, and then said, “I may not have shaved your face before, but I remember well enough all the times in the past when you let me shave your legs before competitions or just because you wanted to.  I think I can do this for you.”

A towel was repurposed as a cape, and Fingon sat as still as possible as Maedhros carefully removed every last hint of beard from Fingon.  So that Fingon could be still, Maedhros spent the time talking to him. “I want to thank you for having trust in me. I know how difficult that can be for you, and...a month ago, I do not think we would have been in this place.  I missed being on this level with you. I also really appreciate that you are willing to let me take care of you. You…” Maedhros lowered his hand a moment, mindful that with a sharp blade, he had to have clear vision. “There were a lot of times you took care of me, but there were so many times I wanted to take care of you, despite how much you would declare to me you were fine.  From now on, I intend to trust instinct. We should all be taking care of each other equally.”

Fingon reached up and rubbed his hand along Maedhros’ arm.  “I want to kiss you right now, but I do not want to get foam all over you.”

“Oh, fuck the foam,” said Maedhros.  He set the razor down and straddled Fingon’s lap.  

They kissed several times, and then Fingon began to laugh when he caught sight of the smudges of soap on Maedhros’ face.  “This is an interesting look for you,” he said as he pulled a hand mirror from the counter and held it up.

Maedhros chuckled and lifted up a corner of the towel wrapped around Fingon to wipe off his own face.  “No matter what happens tonight, I am going to fondly remember this time spent with you.”

“I think tonight will be memorable as well,” Fingon said.  “At least, I hope it will,” he fretted.

Maedhros very carefully kissed the tip of Fingon’s nose.  “I have a feeling it will be.”  

Fingon reached out from under the towel and gave Maedhros’ rear a little squeeze.  “I really like this position. I cannot recall you ever sitting on my lap like this before.”

“No, I guess not.  This is nice.” Maedhros almost went for Fingon’s lips again, but caught himself and kissed Fingon’s forehead instead.  “Let me finish for you and then we can see how you look in those fancy robes.”

With controlled patience, Fingon sat and relaxed as Maedhros completed his task.  As soon as he was done and had wiped the excess smudges of soap from Fingon’s face, Fingon pulled Maedhros back into his lap.  “I like this a lot. I want you here more often,” he said before he kissed Maedhros invitingly.

As much as Maedhros wanted to stay in this position, he granted Fingon another kiss before he retreated with a smile.  “Go on and take a look. I think you look spectacular.”

For a first time, Maedhros had certainly excelled decided Fingon, who ran a hand over his skin.  Fingon stood up and walked back to the full mirror. There he stared at his reflection and timidly slid his hand down the front of the garment.  Smooth cheeks were touched again and made his facial features more prominent, and gave his face a softer look. Then both of his hands found their way into his hair to pull the mass of now dry waves up and back.  He stood there, only pulled from his trance when something was knocked over on the roof with a bang. Fingon looked over his shoulder as he lowered his hands. “Thank you, Maitimo.”

“Why are you thanking me when I get all the benefit?” Maedhros smiled, teasing. In a quieter voice he added. “I understand, Fin. And I am happy to see your happiness. But, that noise is a warning, I think. Perhaps we should make a little more haste at finishing our preparations. I thought we might aid each other into these clothes and then perhaps address our hair?”

With an emphatic nod, Fingon added, “I need to put my cosmetics on, too, but that will not take long.”  Mindful now of the time as he caught a glimpse of the darkening sky outside, Fingon shook out one of the articles of clothing meant for Maedhros.  “I cannot wait for you to see the surprise Gildor has for you, sweetheart. I just know you are going to love it.”

“I feel certain that I will,” Maedhros smiled, genuinely looking forward to the rest of the evening and whatever it might bring.

  
  


###  Evening - Day 25

  
  


Of the last two occupants to set foot on the roof, only one had some idea what to expect.  Fingon was aware, from the decorations that were created and the food being prepared that it would be a large gathering in a beautiful space.  The roof was completely transformed, with floral pillars and arches hiding the fact that they were on a rooftop, and a makeshift altar at one corner, Elrond standing proudly at the ready.  “I am sorry I could not warn you, but I was sworn to secrecy,” Fingon said as he gave Maedhros’ hand a squeeze.

Maedhros slowly scanned the rooftop.  It was easy to pick out certain people--Celegorm, of course, with his exotic look in a sea of redheads and brunets, and Turgon, being as tall as he was.  His father, of course, with a small smile, and a brief nod to him. Maedhros turned just so in order to face Fingon and took firm hold of both of his hands.  “So was I,” he replied back.

Fingon blinked and was about to ask for clarification when Gildor was suddenly upon him.  “There you are! Finally! I was beginning to worry! Now, in my head, everyone is in a very specific place,” Gildor said loudly, which was helping to hush the small talk that had been happening.  “Let me see… yes..no...yes, here,” he directed as he dropped Fingon off in a spot to the side and went back for Maedhros, who was brought to the front, or at least, what was being utilized as the front, for there was an archway, under which Maedhros now stood beside Elrond.

“Gildor,” hissed Fingon as he passed by.  “Gildor, what--”

“Shh, shh!  Not much light left; need to hurry!  Stand still, please!” Gildor directed, and had it not been for the fact that this was of course Gildor’s day, Fingon might not have complied with his oddities.

The shuffle continued, and Fingon suddenly caught sight of Aredhel, mouthing to her ‘what are you doing here?’ to which she mouthed back ‘I like your hair’.  Fingon huffed best he could with the corset and rolled his eyes.

Only now that everyone seemed to be placed--some in the wrong places, if one were to ask Fingon--did Gildor walk up to the confused Noldo and clear his throat.  He took hold of Fingon’s hands as Maedhros had earlier and said to him, “Please, if you hate me right now, please know that this came from a place of goodness within me.  I know how much the two of you wanted this, once upon a time. This was promised to you--and you both had to sacrifice this and more, for us, for everyone, so that some of us never had to make such a sacrifice.”  Gildor stepped closer, for Fingon said nothing and showed no emotion. “I know from what he told me that the two of you were supposed to receive your grandfather’s blessing, but he is not here to do that. Instead, and I hope this makes up for it, I am giving you my blessing.  I love you both. The two of you need this just as you need air to breathe. Go to him.” Gildor kissed Fingon’s cheek and slid away to the side as Finrod cued a group of makeshift minstrels to begin playing.  

Frozen in place, Fingon licked his lips and twitched his nose in an attempt to keep tears from falling.  From either side of the roof there was a little commotion as people shifted and moved aside. He saw Fëanor first, then his parents on the opposite side, then Nerdanel, very pregnant, and very happy as she approached first, took Fingon’s hands, and then embraced him.  Once she let go, Fëanor stepped up, and he held out a small crystal box. “Call it a tribute, or a gift, or an apology, or what you will.” The box was placed in Fingon’s left hand, fingers maneuvered around it by Fëanor, who then stepped back and to the side with his wife.

The box felt like it was vibrating, until Fingon realized the box was still and he was the one trembling.  It was then that his mother set her hands on his shoulders and kissed each of his cheeks. She leaned close to him and said softly, “If this is your desire, no one intends to speak against it.  If not...let me know, and I will lift my skirts and make a grand scene so that you can escape without fear.” This actually made Fingon let out a slight cough of laughter. His mother held him tightly, and he her, and she continued with, “I am proud of you, baby-mine.  I want you to be happy. Are you happy here?” She backed up only slightly, holding onto Fingon’s arms, and he nodded, and noted they were both crying. “Good. I want you to be happy. Here; your eyeliner is going to run,” Anairë fussed as she pulled a handkerchief from seemingly nowhere and expertly dabbed it just so.  “Tilt your head back. Take a deep breath.”

“Mama…”  He was not about to explain why deep breaths were not an option at the moment.

“Shh…”  Anairë fanned her hand over Fingon’s face for a moment.  “Alright. Look at me.” Anairë smiled. “You have to live your life forward, Findekáno.  I see a very happy future for you.”

“Thank you,” he said as his mother kissed his cheek once more and then backed behind her husband.  Fingon held his breath as he locked his gaze with Fingolfin.

Quieter than the rest, Fingolfin cleared his throat.  “This is what you want.”

Fingon looked past his father.  There was Maedhros, far ahead it seemed, the shocking red hair unmistakable, and near to him, three other figures briefly noted in the blur of Fingon’s vision.  “I am sorry,” he replied as he bowed his head.

Fingolfin cupped his son’s cheek and lifted his head.  “I am sorry that you think you need to apologize for this, because it means I…”  Fingolfin shook his head. “It will not be easy, but it will be rewarding. It will not be overwhelmingly accepted, but it will be fulfilling.  Anyone who wants to quarrel over it can fight me. And we both know how unlikely I am to walk away from a battle.” Father and son shared a smile, and then Fingolfin moved aside and gave Fingon’s shoulder a little nudge forward.

It was then that Fingon saw Erestor moving toward him.  Something was concealed in his cupped hands. When Erestor reached him, Fingon affectionately stroked Erestor’s cheek with the back of his hand.  “You must have had a part in all this,” he said.

Erestor smiled enigmatically.  “A little of this, a little of that.”  He carefully revealed what he held and said, “A long time ago, in Rivendell, when I was married, I was given this.  I know that technically, Fëanor and Nerdanel are supposed to give you some sort of jewel, but in a way that is exactly what this is.”  Erestor lifted the glowing blue gem by the chain it was on and positioned it down over Fingon’s head so that the stone rested over his breast.  “From them to my father to the ends of Middle-earth, to the sea, to Glorfindel, to me, and now, to you.” Erestor placed his hand over the gem and kissed Fingon chastley upon the lips.  “This feels right. All of this,” he added with conviction before he walked back to the front between Gildor and Glorfindel.

Fingon made it only a few steps closer to the altar before he caught sight of Glorfindel approaching him.  He paused, and when Glorfindel stood before him, he had a crown of golden flowers in his hands. “It is only fitting for a king to have a crown,” he said as he stood on the tips of his toes as Fingon crouched down, and placed it on Fingon’s hair.  “You look beautiful,” he added.

“So do you,” Fingon answered.  They embraced, and held each other tight for a moment, and then Fingon said, “I had a fleeting thought, for just a moment, that this might have been for us,” he admitted.

“We will have our moment.  I promise.” Glorfindel stretched to kiss Fingon on the lips before he took a deliberate step away, smiled, winked, and returned to the front to stand beside Erestor.

After two steadying breaths, Fingon managed to reach the empty spot beside Maedhros.  Immediately, he turned his head and whispered an accusatory, “You knew.”

“For less than a day, and it was the hardest thing I have ever had to keep from you,” Maedhros replied.  He reached out and took hold of Fingon’s right hand with his left, and Fingon found they were both shaking.  “Come on. You would have hated a year-long betrothal. Forgive me?” asked Maedhros.

Fingon turned his head a little more and stared at Maedhros without blinking.  Then, as the music was fading out, he said, “I crossed grinding ice of death for you even after I thought you helped burn the ships that would bring us back together.  I searched for you high and low even after all others gave you up for dead. I fought for you. I died for you. I would forgive you anything, with time.”

“How much time is this going to take?” Maedhros asked warily.

Fingon stared, but his expression softened.  He leaned in and kissed Maedhros on the cheek.  “I love you,” he said as the last tremor subsided.

“I know,” replied Maedhros, a small content smile playing on his lips.

Standing before them was Elrond, dressed in his finery, or at least the finest things he had brought with him to the island.  He had a worn book in his hands, but he had not opened it yet. “I have opened this book on many occasions. I have recited from it in times of war, and in times of peace.  I have read from it to inspire, and I have read from it when the words have been the last a mortal being has heard. I have read them aloud, and I have read them to myself. Of all the reasons to open this book, marriage is my favorite.  However, I believe the words should be spoken by another today.” Elrond turned slightly, and now behind Elrond, Fingon noticed there was a partition set up. A moment later, a regal figure stepped out from behind the barrier.

“Are you surprised to see me?” asked Ereinion in a very soft voice once he had taken up the place where Elrond had been standing.

Fingon, who was not able to stop the straying tears, nodded and reached out to touch his son’s hand.  “Once I realized...I was hoping...are your brother and sister--” Fingon looked to where his eldest nodded at the second row, and he turned back after giving them a wave.  “They brought all of my grandbabies, too. I have wanted them to see the island for so long. Oh, I am going to look like a mess,” he sniffled, and from the side, Elrond handed him a handkerchief.

As Fingon took a moment to press the cloth to his face in an attempt to salvage his cosmetic art, Maedhros leaned closer and said, “You have never been more beautiful,” which only made Fingon shed a few more tears.  Maedhros kissed the top of Fingon’s head, and the onlookers happily sighed, exchanged looks, and smiled at one another.

Behind them, the youngest of Fingon’s grandchildren whispered to Celebrian, who happened to be beside him, “My grandpa is the prettiest grandpa.”  Celebrian nodded in agreement.

Fingon folded up the cloth and held it back out to Elrond.  “Alright. Are there any more surprises I need to know about?”

“Not at the moment,” Ereinion said as he opened the book handed to him by Elrond.

Erestor’s eyes tracked around the gathering, from inside the security of his head covering. Fëanor, siblings of Maedhros, Nerdanel. Fingolfin, Turgon. Closing his eyes, he considered what two of those elves especially had cost him--some of the lowest moments of his life. So many of the moments of his life were low. Thoughts of his discussion with Fëanor still filtered through his mind, leaving him to wonder how much he had ever really understood. Intrigues. Lies. Secrets. Knowledge was control, and control was power. Turgon, especially. He watched the man who had ordered him beaten nearly to death--twice. For what? Having an opinion, and being gay and they probably all knew it no matter what he had done to make himself otherwise? And what about Fin, who stood at his side? His hand found his way into his husband’s familiar grasp. Was Fin thinking the same thing he was? For all he was giving his free blessing for this union, at this exact moment he fought off a creeping sense of terror. Fear of loss, dread of going back to some other time. Unaware, he squeezed Glorfindel’s hand harder than he meant to. 

_ It is not just you,  _ he heard inside of his thought.  _ The distress is in me as well. Though Gildor cannot hear us, I know he worries about the same. _

_ That is strangely comforting _ . Erestor fought off nervous trembling. __

Glorfindel drew Erestor closer against his side. _ I keep telling myself that we will not lose him. That he will come back to us, filled with greater light. I realized it, somewhere along the way. _

_ Realized what?  _ Erestor blinked away tears, so very glad of the fabric that obscured much of his face.

_ About love.  _

_ What about love? Fin, you are not helping. _

_ About what love is, then. Ress, please try to relax. This may sound stark raving silly, but hear me out. We have all, for different reasons and at different times, had to let each other go. Sometimes more than once. I considered these occasions a great deal, of late, and I found a commonality I never previously grasped. The greatest love was not in the marriages or the sex or the passionate nights or the make ups from the many arguments and hurt feelings. It was in the letting go. Letting go, knowing that it might go fully and completely to shit, and be the end of us. But everytime we did let go, it was done because it had to be. I am not saying that each parting was noble; some of those occasions as you well know were for reasons as horrible as they could possibly be. But when we reunited… _

A comforting arm came around Erestor’s shoulder, while the golden ellon waited to see if Erestor would see the conclusion. Of course he would, he was Erestor. The chocolate eyes finally peered up to meet those of his husband.  _ But when we reunited, there was no question as to why we had. Because love that could not be denied drew us together again. _

Glorfindel nodded, leaning into his mate.  _ Now. You are more skilled at speaking like this than I. I would be in your debt if you would share this with Gildor. _

_ I love you, Fin. From the first lesson that had my ass in the dust in Gondolin to now, still you teach me. _

A smile broke over Glorfindel’s face, one of those true and unconsidered expressions that called to mind that this elf had been granted extraordinary blessings and powers. A radiance formed around him of which he was blissfully ignorant.

From a place not so distant, Angrod beheld Glorfindel and felt deeply struck at what he did not understand. He suspected that though he was trying his hardest to make redress, he had committed greater wrongs than he knew, for surely the light of the Blessed Ones rested on his son?

Ereinion had the book open, but it was left to rest on the podium as he moved down to walk among those who were assembled.  “Marriage. We are compelled to find someone in life who will complete us. Someone who makes us whole, and someone whom we complete.”

He paused midway back down the aisle and turned to look at those seated on one side of the roof.  “In our minds, we have a thought that our spirit is a half of something. We have these thoughts because…”  He lifted a hand up and waved back and forth by the group. Finally, someone spoke up, though they were so faint that after Ereinion listened, he repeated for everyone else.  “Because the Laws and Customs say so. What else?” He tilted his head, and nodded at the next answer. “Because someone told us and we believed it. Yes, you?” he said as someone raised a hand.  “Mmmhmm. Because it is customary, and lawful. Anyone else? Yes... mmm. Because we have the concept of ‘man and wife’ as ‘normal’. One more... speak up please… yes, partners. We tend to think in pairs because of Cuivienen.  Very good. These are all reasons we have a hard time fathoming marriage outside of the constraints of one man and one woman.”

Ereinion moved to the other side, and now he folded his hands before him.  “Who here does some sort of crafting...any sort… ah, Fëanor,” he said, despite the fact there were several dozen hands raised, and none belonging to Fëanor.  “I have heard that you are known to craft sometimes.”

“I dabble,” answered Fëanor, his voice loud and clear so that it need not be repeated over the laughter from everyone else.

“Tell me, then, what is the single right way to cut a diamond?”

Fëanor looked upwards at the dimming night sky, and then looked back again.  “Carefully,” he slowly answered.

As the second eruption of laughter quieted, Ereinion remarked, “I can see why everyone calls you a troublemaker.”  He did not give Fëanor a chance to reply to this as he quickly asked, “How many facets should a diamond have?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On the size, the usage, the desire of the client.  There are many different settings, many different options.”

“So, what you are saying is, there is no one right answer.”

Fëanor shook his head.  

“Then do you, Fëanáro Finwëion, and do you, Nerdanel Mahtaniel, bless this union of your son Nelyafinwë, a child of Eru, with Findekáno?  Do you promise to provide love and understanding to them both, and to the rest of their spouses, and to love them all as you do your own flesh and blood?”

“We do,” Nerdanel answered as Fëanor nodded in agreement.

Ereinion walked back to the other side of the aisle.  “Where are my grandparents...there you are.” Ereinon stopped beside Fingolfin and Anairë.  “Fingolfin--can I call you Fingolfin?”   
  


“You just did,” Fingolfin said rather stoically.  Some laughed; some merely listened.

“If I am not mistaken, your craft is quite the opposite of your brother’s craft.  You are a baker and a chef.” Ereinion’s comments were met with a nod. “So yours is an ‘always eat this’ craft, and Fëanor’s is a ‘never eat this’ craft.”

“There is a spider who would beg to differ,” piped up Fëanor from the other side.

“Shh. You had your turn,” scolded Fingolfin, and the congregation laughed harder when Fëanor crossed his arms and merely stuck his tongue out at Fingolfin.  

“So tell me, then,” Ereinion said, “what is the single correct recipe for cake icing.”

“Which kind?” asked Fingolfin.

“Buttercream,” Ereinion said.

“Well, it depends,” Fingolfin said.  “Is it a dense cake, or is it light, and what are the flavors, and is it summer or winter--”

“So you, too, agree that there is not a single correct answer to everything?”

“Some questions might have a single right answer,” cautioned Fingolfin.

“I almost hesitate to ask, but then, I assume you are not going to bring up something to ruin my logic, grandfather,” Ereinion said, emphasizing the last word.

Fingolfin rolled his tongue around the inside of his mouth. At the front, Fingon was holding his breath, and Maedhros reached over to squeeze his hand reassuringly.  “For example, should someone challenge Morgoth to one-on-one combat. The answer is always ‘no’.”

“Do balrogs suck?  The answer is decidedly, yes,” came Fëanor’s voice from the other side.

“Alright, before the two of you turn this into ‘back to Middle-earth month’, I would like to redirect your attention to the wedding ceremony of your sons.”  Ereinion cleared his throat. “Do you, Ñolofinwë Finwëion, and do you, Anairë Antoanwëiel, bless this union of your son Findekáno, a child of Eru, with Nelyafinwë?  Do you promise to provide love and understanding to them both, and to the rest of their spouses, and to love them all as you do your own flesh and blood?”

“We do,” answered Fingolfin and Anairë in unison.

“Alright.  Just a few moments and I will be up there again,” Ereinion called out to the front.  Maedhros nodded and decided to pull Fingon closer, so that they stood with Maedhros behind Fingon, loosely embracing the shorter elf. 

“For the rest of you, I am going to make you come to me.  May I have Tata, Tatië, Finrod, Amarië, Angrod, and Eldalótë step forward?”  Ereinion waited as all six made their way out of the rows where they had been sitting and stood before him in the aisle.  “Marriage brings together families. Already, your children have woven their lives together with one of the men standing before us today, seeking our blessings for their union.  Love should have no boundaries. The world needs more love, not more hate. Not more disapproval. Not more fear. I ask you all now, do you bless this union of your children, who you see before you?”  Ereinion motioned to Erestor, Gildor, and Glorfindel, who remained near to the pair at the front, yet far enough not to be the main attraction of the ceremony. “Do you accept the love, openness, and understanding that they have shown today in celebrating the love of their husbands?  Do you vow to provide love and understanding to them, and to their spouses, and to love them all as you do your own flesh and blood?”

“We do,” spoke the six members of the group, and no one’s voice was louder than that of Angrod.

“Please be seated,” directed Ereinion, and the parents all shuffled back to their seats.  Ereinion returned to the podium, and smiled at Fingon and Maedhros, who now separated to stand beside one another again.  “It sounds like your families are behind you a hundred percent,” he said. “Good thing, too, because I heard there is a lovely cake downstairs, and it would have been awkward to eat it if this all had gone badly.  I still would have eaten some,” he added quietly, so that only those closest could hear him. “I love a good cake.”  

He cleared his throat again and glanced at the book, then back up at Fingon and Maedhros, and then to Elrond.  “Can we just pretend I read out of this?” Ereinion asked as he started to close the book. “There are a lot of references to things I just said--”

“If you are afraid you are going to insult me, no, you will not,” Elrond said as he motioned that Ereinion should hand the book to him.

After doing so, Ereinion also decided to pick up the podium and move it aside.  He then reached out and took hold of Maedhros’ left hand and Fingon’s right. “There were two constants in the first years of my life.  My father...and my other father. I could not fathom an existence without both of them. And suddenly, that was gone. You were separated from one another.  That separation has gone on for far too long.” Ereinion brought their hands together, and moved his away once Maedhros and Fingon were holding each other’s hand.  Ereinion gently coaxed them to face each other, and now they joined their other hands.  

Fingon looked up to see that Maedhros was starting to cry, and he lifted up on the tips of his toes to kiss away the tears.  ‘I love you,’ he mouthed to Maedhros.

‘I love you, too,’ Maedhros mouthed back to him.

“I think everyone should hear that,” prodded Ereinion.

Fingon and Maedhros smiled at each other, ignoring everyone else on the roof.  “You first,” whispered Maedhros. “You lead; I follow.”

There was a little shake of Fingon’s head, and he said softly, “No.  Together.”

There was a silent count to three, and then in unison, “I love you,” from both of them.

“And what more can I possibly add?” queried Ereinion.  “For your declaration before those gathered here demonstrates the desire of your hearts; I bear witness that together you enter the bonds of marriage.  You may kiss one another, if you wish, and then, I think your husbands might wish to join you.”

Fingon put his arms around Maedhros’ neck.  “There are a lot of people here who were not happy when they first found out about us,” he whispered into Maedhros’ ear.

“Mmmhmm.  Well. Watch what happens now.”  Maedhros cupped Fingon’s cheek, and they closed their eyes as they languidly kissed.  All around them, applause and cheering could be heard, and they kissed again for good measure, for else they were certain the happiness would burst from within them.

Erestor and Glorfindel both moved to either side of Gildor, obviously in an action somewhat rehearsed. “We did it,” the dark one smiled. “Our husbands have wed. But now the real work begins. I want you to know, and so does Fin, that though we have not and may never join fully with you, you are most definitely now our obligation. In sickness or distress, in fear or doubt, in trouble or adversity--we claim you as our family in a sacred trust, Gildor. You are never to feel alone, excluded, or without our full support.”

“This is our pledge to you, in honor of what we know Fingon and Maedhros would wish to be the case,” Glorfindel added. “I do not have a word for what you now are to me--sworn brother is too little and husband is too much. So ‘my cherished family’ will have to do, as if you were of my own blood. Indeed you are in actuality, which is why neither myself nor Erestor will listen to any cheek, or speeches of resistance on your part.”    
  
Glorfindel and Erestor appeared suitably pleased, for Gildor’s expression was something like a mesmerized deer, frozen and not knowing what to do next. Both ellyn pulled to lower Gildor’s head enough for Glorfindel to reach. A firm and chaste kiss was pressed on each of his cheeks. “Our promise to you is spoken, sweetheart. I love you,” Erestor told him.

“I love you,” Glorfindel added. “Now you will never be rid of us.” He booped Gildor on the nose, observing him carefully. “Are you alright, love?” he asked with concern. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Mae Mae…” the blond said, blinking back tears.

“Yes. Of course,” Erestor said kindly, taking Gildor’s arm and firmly locking it within his own. All three of them moved toward the happy couple.

Maedhros needed one glance at Gildor approaching him to draw Fingon near. Their comparative heights were just right for Maedhros to speak while hidden from sight. “Finya...please. Please follow my lead.”

Fingon had no idea what was meant by that, but wore an adoring grin in response and reached up to stroke Maedhros’ cheek and nod. Maedhros stepped out from behind his new husband to approach Gildor, kneeling in front of him and embracing his midsection. His fiery head rested against Gildor’s fancy clothing. “My husband. With all that I have I acknowledge the profound gift you have bestowed upon me. You had every right to claim me as only your own, and yet your heart gave me this.” Maedhros sought Gildor’s hand, in order to kiss it fervently. “I love you, Gildor. The depth of that love shakes me to my core, and I shall give my all to be worthy of what you have done for me. For us.” Tears fell, as he held the precious fingers. “Thank you, my love. I am forever yours, and forever in the debt of your generous heart.”

Maedhros stood and looked to Fingon, who had watched the scene before him silently.  Gildor held his breath as Fingon stepped up to him. For a moment, they simply looked into each others’ eyes, each reflecting on their lives ahead of them.  Suddenly, Fingon knelt, bowing so low that his hair pooled on the ground and he lifted the edge of the green fabric of Gildor’s robe. Then he kissed Gildor’s bare feet in an extreme display of submission, not once, but several times, resting his forehead upon them to center himself as he held onto Gildor’s ankles. When Fingon rose, and took Gildor’s hand. “I have no bond with your flesh, but Maedhros does. I pledge to you that because you are sacred to him, you are sacred to me. I will care for you in thought and deed, and protect you with my life. Thank you, for what you have done for both Maedhros and myself. I declare you mine to be provided for and cherished as my closest family.” 

“Oh, Fingon... that was…”  Gildor took a moment to run a finger beneath each eye.  He bit his lip and lifted his arms. Fingon took up the invitation for a hug, and as they held onto each other, Gildor whispered as his lip trembled, “I take back what I said to you before.  You are my king. You will always be my king.”

Fingon sniffled a little, and before he stepped away, kissed Gildor sweetly upon the lips as he held his hands.  “I never thought I would like you, let alone love you. It feels very good to have been proven wrong.” He looked to Maedhros and gave him a nod.

Maedhros wasted no time bringing Gildor into his embrace, and kissing him soundly, while Fingon, Glorfindel and Erestor placed their hands on the two.

_ Mae Mae _ ? Gildor asked timidly, holding him tightly.

_ You did good, sweetheart. No, not good. What you did is the second greatest thing anyone has ever done for me. _

_ What was the first? _ Gildor sniffled.

Maedhros looked at him with complete honesty.  _ The day you gave yourself to me, body and spirit, and saved me from myself while asking nothing in return but the chance to love me. _

Gildor looked away.  _ All I did was loiter at your house, drink your wine, and screw around a little.  Not as if I hitched a ride on an Eagle and saved you from doom. You were not in dire straights when we reunited.  It was not that ba-- _

_ Yes, sweetheart, it was. We both know it. You found me in pieces and made me whole, even at this cost to yourself. _

For the first time since the ceremony began, Gildor smiled. A real smile.  _ I did good?  _

_ Oh, my love. I will never let you forget how good you have done. You will scream my name, helpless against my desire.  _ Maedhros smiled. His face seemed appropriately conservative, but his eyes held smoldering passion.

Already Gildor felt the heat in his loins, and bit his lip.  _ Not in front of my parents. Please? Even I have things I cannot do. _

_ Your wish is my command. Perhaps you could do something else for me. _

_ What, Mae Mae? _

_ Tell me about all this wonderful food? For it was no small task, keeping Fingon occupied before the ceremony, and I now have quite an...appetite.  _ Maedhros pecked him again on the cheek.

_ “ _ Food. This way _ ,”  _ choked Gildor, walking a little funny as he led the way to the tables.

_ “ _ What is that?” Glorfindel asked with simple curiosity, pointing at the box Fingon had just withdrawn from his pocket and now held clutched in his hand.

“I think I know,” Maedhros smiled.

Gildor stopped, and now all of them turned to look at Fingon. Fingon, who now stared at the box, then the four other pairs of eyes watching him, and back to the box.

“Well, open the damned thing!” This command came from Fëanor, who was standing far away not to be a hindrance, but close enough to listen.  

Beside him, Nerdanel socked him in the shoulder.  “Blessed thing,” she scolded him. “And, a please would not hurt.”

Fëanor sighed mightily.  “Please open the blessed box you were given before the ceremony,” he said in a monotone voice that was enough for his wife to rub his arm where he had been hit.

Fingon opened the small container.  His lips parted in shock at the brilliance contained within.  “These are...amazing,” he said as he stared at them.

“Of course they are,” Fëanor agreed with conviction.  “I made them.” Nerdanel rolled her eyes and punched him again, far gentler this time.  “I hope you can figure out who gets which one.”

Within the box, instead of two rings, were five.  Crafted in a manner that made it look as if the gold had been braided together, stones of a different color were inlaid in each.  A red ring, studded with rubies, larger than the others and obviously meant for Maedhros was beside one that was decorated with trillion-cut citrine, and then a band with golden beryls adorning it that were shaped like tiny flowers.  The green ring seemed the most thought out, for it was a combination of emeralds and peridots, and had an ombre effect that mimicked what Gildor often did with his hair. Finally, there was a band with star sapphires, the center of these with twelve rays instead of the typical six found with the others.

Maedhros lifted the blue ring from the box and took possession of Fingon’s hand, which was already adorned with the ring given to him by Glorfindel.  “Same hand? Different hand?” he asked.

“Same,” said Fingon.  “I want to see them both there.”

“Then that one will remain closest to your heart, and this one will protect it,” said Maedhros as he slid the second ring past Fingon’s knuckle, then lifted his hand to kiss it.

While he held his new husband’s hand, his eyes tracked around to carefully study the other three ellyn. Erestor’s head was lowered the most, which is why Maedhros turned to him next. Glorfindel had an arm around him, offering support, and Erestor’s fingers clutched at the fabric of his veil. Slowly, with great care, Maedhros covered Erestor’s left hand. He did not try to pry at Erestor, but held his own palms in a manner that invited Erestor to offer his hand to Maedhros. Having seen what was just done to Fingon, Erestor knew what was expected but could not hide that he trembled. Somehow, he managed to raise his eyes to look at Maedhros, unashamed that he wept.

“May I, Erestor?” Maedhros asked softly.

Erestor nodded, knowing that any attempt at speech would be unsuccessful and worse yet, attract the attention of others. Elrond and Celebrían, among others, had caught sight of this intimate moment and drawn the focus of their guests to the promise of refreshments downstairs, so that the five of them plus Fëanor and Nerdanel might escape the full scrutiny of those gathered. Angrod, Finrod, Fingolfin and their spouses did notice, approaching yet remaining at a respectful distance.

The redhead slipped the citrine very carefully past Erestor’s knuckle to rest over the golden band he already wore. “I swear to cherish and protect you, Erestor. To care for and honor you.” The ring slid to its final resting spot, and Maedhros kissed the gem, and then the tears from Erestor’s cheeks. 

Erestor, unable to forget the earlier words of Fëanor, embraced Maedhros even as he broke down into silent sobs. No one said a word. Instead the four closed in around him in a protective circle, until he could recover himself. Glorfindel asked the reason for his tears, and Erestor poured out the truth to the four of them. In addition he requested Fingon’s pardon, unable to believe that his feelings would be acceptable given his husband’s enmity toward Fëanor. He received in return their love and empathy. Minutes later, Fingon dabbed the beautiful ellon’s skin dry and kissed Erestor soundly in reassurance. Stepping backward to make room for Glorfindel or Gildor, Erestor’s eyes turned down to the brilliant gem. He wore Fëanor’s ring, bestowed through his eldest son. As badly as he wanted to raise his eyes to the first one he ever had loved, he did not dare. This day was for Fingon, so he drew his veil closer around him and sent every thought of thankfulness, devotion and approval he could muster to his husband while the rest of him begged Eru for strength and clarity.

In the background, some of the immediate family had begun to creep nearer to Fëanor and Nerdanel. Finrod and Amarië were first, bright smiles on their faces as they saw something special was happening for all of the five. Tata and Tatië followed, slightly more hesitant. Their reluctance seemed borne of uncertainty and wishing to please their son--for whom they had been able to perceive something difficult had happened. Those sorts of things are not easily hid from parents, no matter how old the child. Lastly, Eldalótë simply dragged Angrod along with her (to be fair, he did not resist, it was only that his wife was the more fiercely determined not to be left out of anything else to do with her son--ever again.)

As they watched, Nerdanel leaned in to Fëanor and met his eyes after looking at Erestor.   _ When you think about it, that night that he encouraged me to be with you, in a way, he gave you to me.  And now, we are...giving Maedhros to them, and to him. It is as if things came full...oh, darling, I am sorry, I did not mean to make you-- _

“Excuse me.  Something in my eye, I think,” mumbled Fëanor as he turned away and walked to one of the corners of the roof with Nerdanel following him.  He turned back to watch, keeping his distance so that the others did not see his emotions as clearly.

Glorfindel and Gildor both felt too much happiness and excitement to linger long on Erestor’s emotional revelation, though neither would forget it. They were Noldor; radiant shiny jewels in sparkling colors were literally at hand, and if they were a little distracted it was natural. Backing up ever so slightly, Glorfindel smiled like an eager child, but arched a graceful arm around to surreptitiously point at Gildor. He knew that Maedhros meant to gift him next, and equally knew that he wanted Gildor to take that place more than anything. Erestor, trying very hard to support everyone else, silently spoke to Maedhros in case there was any doubt. 

“We would be here a very long time if I spoke all the praises belonging to Gildor,” Maedhros smiled. He leaned in to kiss the lips he loved so well. “Though I spoke my praise and thanks earlier, I must do so again. I will never be able to thank you enough for what you have given me, but I will live my life in demonstration of my love for you. Hm, let me see. I believe one of these is meant for you, sweetheart…” The grey eyes twinkled as he selected the elaborate and stunningly crafted one set with the green gems. “To everyone else I have made a promise, to seal my devotion to our family. But I am aware of no promise I can make to you that I have not already given. Gildor. Sweetheart, now or after a period of reflection, is there anything you would ask of me? You who saved my life from loneliness and despair have my continued love.” Maedhros slipped the ring onto Gildor’s hand. “Finally a ring of marriage for my husband. My only regret is that my own hands could not have crafted it. Father acted on my every wish for this in my stead.” Tears pooled in his eyes. “I did not know that happiness can feel like too much to bear,” he said to all of them.

“I have but one request,” said Gildor after he took a moment to admire the ring.  He reached into the box and took the red ring carefully from it. “If I may?” He did not look to Maedhros, but to Fingon, who readily nodded.  Gildor lifted Maedhros’ hand and slid the ring in place. “Perfect,” he commented as he grasped Maedhros’ hand and nuzzled it. “Well, that, and, can you pick me up like you did the other day?”

Maedhros handed the box to Fingon and then put his hand at Gildor’s waist.  “Like this?” he asked, and instead of just picking Gildor off the ground, he spun him around twice as both merrily laughed.

When the moment settled all eyes turned to Glorfindel, whose radiant beauty attracted admiration and notice. “Last but not least,” Maedhros murmured, fingering the ring with golden jewels. “Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, Defender against the servants of Sauron--among other deserved acknowledgements-- plus a certain other deed I know you have heard enough of for ten lifetimes. The one that allowed my son to come to me,” he noted quietly. “There is so much for which I am in your debt though it might not seem thus.” 

A certain serious tone had returned to the redhead’s voice as he continued. “Loving, kind, generous, self-sacrificing. Those are just a few of the attributes I have seen in you since making your acquaintance. We know each other least, of the five of us. My promise to you is never to forget the sacred trust you have given me. And….a little something else. I assign myself the task of bestowing unlooked-for delights upon you. You give much and you ask little, Glorfindel. To the best of my ability, I intend to see that life shows you more...equanimity.” The last ring was slipped onto Glorfindel’s hand, and a chaste kiss given to the blushing cheek--then lips-- not used to quite this manner of attention. Maedhros leaned down to kiss the ring he had just given. No one else could easily divine that the tip of a moist tongue traced partway down Glorfindel’s finger as it retreated. A wink meant for Glorfindel alone was added along with a knowing smile.

“Thank you,” Glorfindel answered, confused, flattered--and somewhat aroused. “In turn I name you the family of my choosing, Maedhros. I welcome you with an open heart, for my husband cherishes you and so do I.” He bestowed a far more chaste kiss on Maedhros’ hand while feeling a sense of relief and contentment. Then he did a very sensible thing, and admired his new ring. Fingon caught Maedhros’ eye, and nodded his approval.

Maedhros cleared his throat, smiling at Gildor. “I really am hungry,” he admitted. “The food looked so good.” An eager smile at Fingon indicated what he was most interested in--for now.

It would be short-lived.  “I know everyone is waiting in anticipation to figure out what flavor the cake is, but I hoped the five of you might have a moment to see the wedding gift my wife and I have for all of you.”  Finrod had waited until he and Amarie were alone on the roof with the inhabitants before speaking.

Gildor looked around curiously.  “When you say all of us, do you really mean all of us?”

“All.  Every last one.  At least, I hope you will all get use out of this.  Now, you will have to forgive me if you do not like where it is--I consulted with the house stallion, and he made suggestion as to where it should go.  He also did a magnificent job of carrying everything up and aiding in the assembly.”

“Now I am beyond curious,” Gildor said.  “Where should we go to find this magnificent gift you sneaky-sneaked in here?”

“Just one floor below,” Finrod told them as he led the way.  “There were so many rooms to choose from, and this way, if you do not like it, we did not displace your living arrangements.”

“You are going to like it, though,” declared Amarie as they reached the third floor and found a nervously excited Asfaloth bouncing outside of one of the bedroom doors.  “Is it all ready for them?” asked Amarie once they were standing before Asfaloth.

“Oh, yes yes yes!” Asfaloth rapidly knocked his knuckles together.  “Do I open the door? Do they open the door? I cannot wait for the door to be opened!”

“Well, go on, open it, then,” encouraged Finrod.

Asfaloth grabbed the knob, then paused to tell Gildor, “If I had a father, I would want him to be yours.  Or like yours. Maybe a horse, but like yours. He gives me extra snacks!”

“The door, please, Asfaloth,” giggled Amarie.

“Whheeee!”  Asfaloth flung the door open.  It hit the wall with a bang and even he jumped.  “Ta-dah!”

As everyone entered the room, Finrod said simply, “We thought you could use a new bed.”

The structure in the center of the room, however, was more than a mere bed.  It was a bed in the middle of benches with tops that lifted up for storage, a sloped lounge, shelves for books, and a massive plush headboard.  There was easily room for five...and perhaps one more, considered Erestor as he ran a hand along the top of one of the shelves. The room that was chosen also had little alcoves in two places, for it was a room on the corner, and these alcoves were each turned into nooks with places to lounge and sleep, making the entire scene one that was very cozy.

“I have musicians, jugglers, and all sorts of performers down on the lawn to keep everyone busy,” explained Finrod.  “Asfaloth is going to come along with us so that you can take a look around.”

“Take your time!” called out Asfaloth as he shut the door loudly.

Fingon ventured to the bed first and placed his hand upon one of the brightly colored squares of the quilt.  Then he looked closer and covered his mouth with his hand. “Look at the squares,” he said quietly. “They are our family.  Each square has a name. This is amazing.” In each corner was one of their names, and at the center, Erestor’s name. Winding from the corners to the center and back around again were stitched patterns of vines weaving the names together.  “Aredhel did this,” recognized Fingon. “She had to be working on this for quite a while--long before the invitations would have been sent.” He looked at the others for confirmation.

“Did she leave out Indis?” Erestor asked with a vaguely hopeful tone, allowing his veil to slip down to his shoulders now that they were alone. “This is...I could think of a dozen reasons why I arguably could have been placed anywhere but at the center. I am very touched, by this. Surrounded by the family I never had.”

“You had family,” Glorfindel smiled, hugging him close. “You were being too much of a stubborn ass to see it.”

“Is that what it was?” a smile played across his rosy lips. “Well I certainly have family now. I just want to say that the ceremony was beautiful. Fingon, Mae--all of us, really. I will never take this for granted. This room will be our shelter, our refuge. A place to shut out the world, and a place to open our hearts only to each other. And now Erestor is going to stop sentimentally babbling so that someone else can talk.”

Glorfindel reached up to ruffle his hair. All those words were true, and better that his eloquent husband had been the one to say them.

Gildor had a far different take on the room.  “Look at all of the compartments! We can keep all of the toys in here!”  Just in case there was any doubt of what he was referring to, he added, “Some of these are the perfect size--long, but not too long.  Oh! Oh…” Gildor only now found that beneath the bench seat, the first tray of compartments lifted up to reveal another. “Oh, it is like my parents know me or something,” he said proudly as he ran a finger along the finely crafted wood.

“I guess this means the collection on the mainland…?” Maedhros asked carefully.

“Will be expanded upon post haste,” Gildor noted excitedly, just warming up. “Let me see...we can organize by material...size...oh yes and Glorfindel, sweetie, I believe I saw that you had carved a thing or two out in the greenhouse, or was that my overactive imagination? All that time on tea breaks could be put to good use, you know.”

“I will get right on that,” Glorfindel said drily. Erestor raised his eyebrow. And waited for it. One, two, three, four…

“Mmmm,” Gildor purred. “And what will you be getting right on? Or is it getting off, right on, or--”

Fingon slid elegantly around to the blond’s side and turned Gildor’s head to close his lips in a demanding kiss, sliding one hand to cup Gildor’s ass and bring him in close. Unprepared for that outcome, Gildor was left breathless and surprised. “You are not the only one who likes to organize,” Fingon growled in a guttural tone of voice, sweeping Gildor into his arms and delivering him to Maedhros. “Yes, I think this one goes there.” With a wink at Maedhros, Fingon struggled to keep in character and was extremely thankful for the corset that kept him from expressing further ideas. Glorfindel, unable to help it, smiled appreciatively.

“Oh, and he fits perfectly,” Maedhros further teased before he stole a kiss from the still-stunned Gildor.  “Looks like we finally found something to keep him speechless.”  

“Then that would be two things, because I know for a fact there is something else that can bring about verbal silence from him,” Fingon said.

Gildor had not been the only one thinking of the uses for the storage they now had at hand.  “This one here has dividers, and it will be perfect for all of the little bottles in your pillowcase, dear,” said Erestor to Glorfindel.  “Then they will not accidentally roll to the floor or spill inside the pillowcase.”

“Kinky chemistry set in the bench storage.  Noted,” said Glorfindel.

“It isn’t all kinky,” Erestor protested. “I think the essential oils in so many fragrances are...well, I will just say that when I...lost you through my own foolishness, I missed that about you terribly. The lavender, the peppermint, the sandalwood and even the rose geranium. I...you made me feel very special. Cared for. It is more of a gift than perhaps you realize.”

“Really?” Glorfindel asked shyly, while Maedhros and Gildor pondered this heretofore unexperienced sensual possibility.

“Really,” Erestor said truthfully. “My old bones shall never pass up the offer of a massage with ylang-ylang and marjoram.”

“I always did like those two together,” Glorfindel noted absently, failing to notice the envious disbelief on Gildor and Maedhros’ faces. Fingon, however had not missed a thing.

“And now we all share these delights,” he said to Gildor, kissing him on the tip of his nose. “In love, and respect, and honor.”

Erestor came around behind Fingon and began to knead his shoulders.  “I remember in those sparse years when it was just the two of us, how you would perfume your hair.  It was similar, but not really the same. Patchouli and orange blossom and lotus...it was less calming, and more invigorating.  “Almost as if the scents you choose relate to your person...alit..ties…” Erestor’s hands had moved down from Fingon’s shoulders, and he now noted something odd about his back.  Something seemed different; what it was, Erestor could not interpret. 

Fingon’s eyes widened a little when he realized that Erestor perhaps had felt the lacings of the corset beneath his robes.  On one hand, he felt his secret was about to be revealed; on the other, did it matter, considering who was in the room?

One more exploratory stroke of his hand provided a far better idea of what he felt, especially when Glorfindel’s shared thought provided the likely solution. With a little smile, Erestor took Fingon’s hand and raised it to his lips. “I did not want to tell you earlier lest I cause you difficulty during the ceremony. Your appearance, then and now, was so beautiful. I have never seen you look more desirable. Inside and out,” Erestor said with a little extra emphasis, catching Fingon’s gaze. “You also, Maedhros, though I know you will forgive that I do not bear the same feelings of ardor for you as I do our husband.”

“I take no offense,” said Maedhros.  “I have a whole bushel full of desire right here in my arms,” he declared as he hoisted Gildor up a little more.

“Same,” Gildor agreed.  “Or something. Hmm...I have so many things I want to gather tonight before we all fall into bed later, happy and exhausted.”

“If you intend that we will be exhausted, then why spend time gathering tonight?” asked Maedhros.

“Obviously, for the morning,” replied Gildor.

In the meantime, Fingon had spied a mirror near one of the alcoves and was now standing before it.  “If we did not have guests to attend to at some point, I would have it in my head to lose a few layers right now, and crawl into bed to test the thread count of the sheets.”

“Mae Mae,” Gildor whined. “He said ‘test’ and ‘sheets’ all in the same sentence.”

“Indeed he did,” Maedhros smiled. “But the question to answer is, how long should we stay in here when we know others wish to celebrate with us? Honestly just leaving us alone in here is half a recipe for disaster.”

“Disaster?” Gildor protested. “Unless that is a new euphemism for hot gay sex, I really cannot agree with that.”

Erestor laughed. “Gildor, do not ever change. But for now, Maedhros is right. If we start that now, no one will wish to stop and...this is probably the most positive thing to ever befall us individually or together. Even were we not gay, disappearing for a long time would be unseemly. We have guests, and therefore we have obligations.”

“Did he really just say ‘unseemly’?” Gildor asked, staring and hopping down from Maedhros’ arms. “Erri, do you have a fever? Are you feeling well?” Gildor touched the skin of his forehead.

Erestor laughed. “I am fine. I just know what I would have given, a long time ago, to have family supporting me in this way. They are here, now; all my long-deferred dreams come true. I guess I just do not want to miss this.”

“Well. What a way to kill a budding erection,” Gildor huffed, but he winked at Erestor.

Silently continuing to look at his reflection, Fingon cleared his throat and said softly yet clearly, “I am--”  He ran his tongue over his teeth and tried again. “I am not gay. I am bisexual.” He only turned his head momentarily, checking to be sure he had spoken loud enough, before he looked back at his reflection.  “And...I do not think I know the rest, yet, but I am trying to discover who I am. Sorry, that was too serious, I should not have--”

“Honey, I am very proud of you right now,” said Glorfindel.  His voice was firm and kind as he came to stand beside Fingon and embrace him.  “It took a lot of courage to say that. And how do you feel now?”

Fingon snuggled against Glorfindel.  “I will tell you when my heart stops thumping against the inside of my chest.”

“I am so grateful to have you. Like this. If you were not I...you have given me a sense of acceptance I have never known. You opened a door to my happiness. Thank you.” Glorfindel cautiously allowed his fingers to discreetly explore the corset. _Mmmm. Later, I want this. You and I. Promise me._ _I shall purchase ones that match, just for us. I shall wear a dress, and we will dance. You could too, if you wish it. I know what kind I imagine you wearing... I would like that so very much._

A rosy blush colored Fingon’s cheeks--not one of embarrassment, but of desire.  He answered with a kiss to Glorfindel’s cheek and a nuzzle for good measure.

In times past, such exchange might have caused Erestor to feel left out, jealous. No longer. He did not wish to wear such garments himself, but to watch his mates do so...his member twitched, and he was trying terribly hard to be well behaved and responsible but these little discussions were testing his resolve.

Meanwhile, Gildor was petting the quilt with longing.  “What if we just spent a few minutes here. Just a few, to see how springy the bed is and how plush the sheets are, and I promise, I fully promise, that everyone will keep all of their clothing on.”

“Except for me, since I opted not to wear any undergarments,” said Fingon.  When everyone except Maedhros stared at him, he added, “Well, other than the corset, that is.”

“Wait--has that been the case all evening?” questioned Gildor.  Fingon shrugged, and Gildor looked up at Maedhros. “Every time I think you are the adventurous one, he throws something like a corset at me.”  Back to Fingon, Gildor said, “I wish we could have had adventures together in the Second Age. You and I would have managed to get in and out of such delicious trouble, I just know it.”

“I can vouch for that,” Erestor noted helpfully. “I know that the reasons only Gildor and I knew those times are very sad ones. I missed you, Fin, even if…” he shook his head. “No. Forget all that, we are only going to talk about the adventures we will have now. The ones that await us. And if Gildor could cause that much hell with just the occasional companion, I smile to consider what lies ahead...for five is a much larger number than two.”

Glorfindel squeezed Erestor. And he agreed.

“The first adventure I want to have with all of you is breaking in this bed,” Gildor proclaimed.  He shifted a sideways look at Maedhros and began to whistle a tune. It took a moment before Maedhros smirked and joined him.

Erestor tilted his head.  “Why does that so famil--ooof!”  Far gentler than the last time he had been pounced by the duo, Erestor suddenly found himself on the bed with Maedhros and Gildor sprawled on either side.  “I should take you both to task for that,” he scolded playfully. “No one needs a hurt leg around here, today of all days!”

“Oh...and how would you take me to task, Master Erestor?”  Gildor was already presenting himself, back arched and rear raised.  “I am sure I deserve every moment of it.”

“And then some,” agreed Maedhros as he reached over and gave Gildor a firm smack.  “But later. Not now. Now we should get up and...oh, are these sheets satin?” he queried as his hand brushed against the increasingly ruffled bedding.

“I do love satin sheets,” admitted Fingon as he and Glorfindel crawled onto the bed with their lovers.

“They allow the body to slide,” Erestor murmured. “Very sensual. I could never afford such as this in my early life. Honestly, I only used a bed when I was an adult.  The first time I encountered these was at the generosity of Thranduil.” His delicate fingers examined them more closely. “These are made of silk! Gildor, are these not silk-satin? You would know best.”

“My word. They certainly are, which means, someone likes us a great deal.” He held up a small corner to see each side of the fabric. “These are the highest quality and therefore cost the giver a fortune--someone accorded us a gift for royalty.” His usual mirth was gone, replaced by trying to puzzle out who would have the means or the desire to show them such favor.

“I am afraid I have an announcement to make. These sheets should be a no-cum zone. Towels, clothing, do what you must, but not a  single drop of semen is to stain these. Seriously, these probably cost what we earn over the course of months. See this jacquard?” Erestor pointed to the woven pattern. “That easily doubles the price beyond the fabric alone. We could never replace them.”

The others stared at Erestor. Some minds thought that the entire point of sheets was to make love between them, and yet Erestor and Fingon were notably more fastidious. Gildor, if nothing else, understood the value of finery.

“Maybe we need Sheet Rules,” Gildor considered. “I mean, we are males. One really good dream at nighttime and...things come.”

“I am male and female,” Glorfindel sighed, “and I can stain sheets with powers you cannot hope to match.” Gildor did not comment, but his finger waggled as he included that item on his list of Sheet Threats.

“Loincloths in bed?” Fingon wrinkled his nose.

“He just wants to save the sheets,” Glorfindel defended his husband. “Also there are oils used in lovemaking; those too will stain.”

“This is reminding me of childhood,” Fingon grumbled. “Look and admire but do not touch.”

“You also had a very shitty childhood,” said Maedhros.  “I have two good hands now. There are a great deal of things I can make now that I could not before, and if it means working that much harder so that we can enjoy the luxury of making love to one another while wrapped in these sheets, or other similarly silky sheets, so be it.”

Erestor and Glorfindel looked at each other. Whether it was meant as a mild scolding, a challenge, or just a statement of fact, it was the first glimmer of transitioning to a dynamic for which consensus would require greater flexibility. And love. “Then I will stop talking about this,” Erestor said humbly. “Forgive me if my comments provoked ill memories. That was not my intention. Sometimes I still need to get over myself.”

“Your points are valid, Erestor,” declared Maedhros.  “I just think, obviously, we know at least a few of the gift-givers, and they know us.  Finrod, Amarie, and Aredhel all know exactly what is going to happen in this bed. Well, maybe not exactly.  But they have some idea. I think.” Maedhros gave Gildor a sideways glance.

“Oh, definitely.  I mean, this is me, and these are my parents, and I have no shame, and my mother and I once had a long discussion about the benefits of lubrication when I first returned to Valinor.”  Gildor looked around. “Too much?” he asked as he saw the others were all staring at him.

“No, Gildor.  For you, just enough,” replied Maedhros.

Glorfindel flailed around until he made contact with Fingon. “Sweetheart, tonight I think you should get in first. With Mae. Then I will feel better about having thought more of the sheets than your happiness.”   
  
Fingon stared, obviously still trying to work out the lubrication conversation and how that was never, ever going to happen with his own parents. “I am not upset with you, Sunshine. I am not sure it is possible. Please do not fret over this. This bed represents our new life together. There will be adjustments, for all of us.” He placed a few tender kisses on Glorfindel’s fingers until the beloved face smiled again. His mind now all over the place, snatches of their conversation flitted here and there.  “By the way, what flavor  _ is _ the cake?”

“It is...not something I am going to share because that is how I will make sure we do not leap right into honeymoon mode and ignoring our guests,” Erestor said smugly.

“Honeymoon.”  The concept hit Fingon like a punch to the gut and he sucked in his breath.

Maedhros caught the reaction immediately.  “Sweetheart. Look at me.” Maedhros reached out to touch Fingon’s arm.  “A surprise wedding is one thing. Surprise consummation is completely different.  My intention is for you to have a glorious evening, not to worry about what might happen.  Remember--you get to be king. Whatever you say goes.”

Fingon remained silent a moment and then said, “The king wants to know what flavor the cake is.”

“The king will know the answer when he tastes it for himself,” Erestor said.

“Damn. It was worth a try,” Fingon said.

“Ress, you should tell him,” Glorfindel prodded. “Not the flavor. You know what I mean.”

Erestor looked away. This felt like keeping a secret once again, and had he not been so very good at that? Yes, it was a form of pride, a guilty pleasure so difficult to fully banish. Erestor, out of whom all the dragons in the service of Morgoth could not extract information if he refused to give it. A small part of him still liked the idea of secrets, even if the secret was small, pathetic and involved a cake. Uncertain, Erestor studied Fingon. If his husband knew of his effort ahead of time, would the cake be good (or awful) because it really was, or would they all heap praise on it even if it was this side of a charcoal briquet hoping to spare his feelings?

“Is this related to the headmaster being here?  Because I saw him, and he did not appear to be here because he likes weddings.”  Fingon took a deep breath. “He fired me, right? I have been expecting it, and you mean to tell me so that he is not the one.  Soften the blow or something. He probably appointed you in my absence,” reasoned Fingon. “Maybe it is best for now; I would have been gone to the mainland, and the library needs someone stable, and you would be perfect.  Let us be honest--you should have gotten the job in the beginning, not me. I suppose I will need to find another way to secure income. Although...well, I could just keep selling my hair. That seems lucrative.”

“I think it would be very crass of the headmaster to be a guest here in order to tell you that. Forgive me, I really have to pee. I shall remain downstairs afterward. You four behave yourselves,” he smiled, rearranging his veil. Blowing kisses, he scuttled from the room leaving Glorfindel to wonder.

Fingon groaned and rubbed his face.  “I know I just fucked up I just wish I knew what I did.”

Maedhros ran a finger along Fingon’s arm.  “Erestor is really excited for you to taste the cake.  He mentioned it more than once.”

“I know you mean for me to make a connection, but...did the headmaster bring the cake?” asked Fingon.

Gildor stretched his arm and patted Fingon’s head.  “I can tell how hard you are trying, and how frustrated you are getting.  Question--do you ever play poker?”

“No. I hate it.  I always lose,” Fingon answered.

“Hmm.”  Gildor patted Fingon’s head again.  “No one fired you.” As much as Gildor wanted to crawl into bed and better examine the feel of the sheets, he also knew he was in a position to salvage the evening.  “Someone who lives in this house made the cake. And it is a big cake.”

“Oh.”  Fingon looked at Glorfindel.

Considering Erestor’s reaction to his initial attempt to help, the blond felt it as a sign to try a different tack. “Just try a bite, sweetie. That is all that can be asked, and give your opinion. I know you understand when to be honest but kind. If you will pardon me, I too feel I should return downstairs. I am unable to shake the idea that I have lingered here the allowable amount of time already. I do not mean that the rest of you should hurry. As long as some of us are there, I think all is well.”

And then there were three.  Fingon rubbed his face again, further smearing his cosmetics.  “I am so confused. I like cake. I just want to know what flavor it is.  I feel like there is another conversation going on that I am not part of.”

Gildor looked over to the door and gave a grunt.  He turned back and said, “Erestor made the cake.”

“Really?  When? How?”  

“The important thing is that he tried very hard,” stated Maedhros.  “No matter what it tastes like, we have to remember that. He did this as an act of love for both of us.”

“Of course I am going to try it--I would have tried it without knowing who made it.  I was just curious about the flavor of the cake. Even if it was...pineapple I would still try it.”

“Pineapple is not the correct answer,” said Gildor knowingly.

Fingon stared at Maedhros.

“If you want to know, Finya, there is one clear and obvious solution. And you are, after all, granted Kingship for this day.” Maedros gazed back evenly, a ruddy eyebrow arched in expectation.

“I should...demand Gildor tell me?” 

Gildor smacked his palm against his forehead.  “Go taste the cake!” Startled by the outburst, Fingon crawled off of the bed and hurried out of the room.  Gildor rubbed his own temples. “My inner scientist want so badly to know if this is psychological or neurological or something else, and my inner sociologist just wants to...fix it for him so that he does not feel...left out.”

“I wonder too, sweetie. But as I cannot know...I kind of wanted some of the pink lemonade, since the champagne is not an option for me? Will you go with me?”

“Of course I will, pumpkin.  Besides, you cannot possibly have your husband cutting the cake without you--and he will, because...everything I just groaned about,” Gildor said as he rolled off of the bed.

“He reminds me of my father in that respect,” said Maedhros as he and Gildor made their way down the two flights of stairs to the first floor.

“There are theories that we seek out a mate--mates, in our cases--that remind us of our...parents.”  Gildor paused and tilted his head.  

“Something wrong?” asked Maedhros.

“Just the thought of all of us reminding each other of our parents.  Especially as it relates to Fingon, Glorfindel, and Erestor...your father is eccentric and determined and brilliant, your mother is independent and creative and resourceful.  I am perfectly fine being linked to those traits. Fingon’s parents--”

“Quiet, reserved, unsure, apologetic, fierce when they need to be, but, yes, I see where you are going on this.  Glorfindel’s parents...I am not sure the adjectives I use will be kind at the moment,” he whispered, lest someone be close enough to hear them.  “Erestor has stated himself that he was not proud of his words and actions of the past at times; Fingon...oh, Fingon,” sighed Maedhros.

“We should not compare directly, though.  It is unfair for all parties, though, I will say, my parents have always been delightful, and I have been attracted to most of you on a romantic level, some more than others, so that speaks well, that I can see a reflection of them in most of you.”

Maedhros held onto the silence, waiting for more from Gildor, before he said, “Except, Fingon.  You would leave him out of that. There is a physical attraction, and generally you like him, love him from an emotional standpoint, but you do not feel or hope for romantic fulfillment.”

Gildor pulled on his bottom lip with his teeth.  “That makes me sound like a jerk.”

“If it is true, it just makes you sound honest.”

“If all of this did not exist,” Gildor said as he motioned a hand around, “then, no, I would honestly--and this is horrible to say to you on your wedding day--not pursue him in that way.”

“I appreciate your honesty, my love.  It will not be held against you in any way.  Fingon is...an acquired taste,” Maedhros said.

Gildor shrugged one shoulder coyly.  “I like how he tastes,” he purred, and then, he snapped his fingers suddenly.  “The cake!”  

The pair hustled down the rest of the steps and weaved through well-wishers to reach the edible monument now positioned in the great room, where musicians indeed were playing, and the walls were decorated with ribbons and flowers.  The party overflowed out onto the lawn in all directions. Glorfindel stood by the cake, with Erestor at his side. The latter listened nervously to the commentary around him about the cake. The one person who was missing was Fingon.

Gildor sidled up to Glorfindel, for there were several guests who wished to give their own blessings, and Maedhros took it upon himself to accept on behalf of both parties.  “Is he still upstairs?” Glorfindel asked Gildor.

Gildor shook his head.  “He came down here before we did--he left almost right after you.”  Gildor scanned the room. “I am going to see if he went in the wrong direction.”

After searching the sitting room and kitchen and peeking into all of the bedrooms on the first floor, Gildor ran up to check the library.  Nowhere inside did he see Fingon, so he looked out the windows of the library. Far more people were outside than in, enjoying the evening under the stars, so it took a little longer before Gildor spied Fingon sitting on one of the mushroom stools in conversation with someone else.  “Well, at least you did not run away,” mumbled Gildor as he rushed back down the stairs.  

“Found him,” he said to Glorfindel in passing.  “Be right back. Hopefully.” Gildor dodged his way between people, backtracking once to hug his parents and offer a quick, “We love it; excuse me,” before he was on his way again.

When he reached Fingon, he was sitting alone, and his expression kept others from approaching him.  Gildor plopped down on a stool and leaned his chin on his hand. “You need to tell me when we are playing hiders-and-seekers before you start the game, darling.”

Fingon looked up.  The rubbing of his face earlier now made him look as if he were imitating a raccoon, and Gildor bit his thumbnail for not noticing before he sent Fingon off to find the cake.  “I spoke with the headmaster.”

“Oh?”

“His wife is replacing me.”

“He fired you?” Gildor said, disbelieving his own words, and after his earlier declaration, he felt terrible.  

“Not...exactly.  He is reassigning me, post-leave.  She is going to handle daily operations and...all the things I did, and he is converting the position Erestor held into a standard, full-time appointment, and...that is what I will be doing.  Acquisitions and development.”

“A promotion?” Gildor said in a hopeful voice.

Fingon shook his head.  “Not in the slightest. I do get to keep my salary, but I will now be working alongside those I used to supervise.  Colleagues will talk; I will be scrutinized. I have seen this before. He said he thinks I need time without the burden of responsibility.  I think he is trying to get me to leave on my own. At least Erestor will have a good position now. He told me about that, too--I have a feeling that was kept from me while I was recovering.  I am very happy for Erestor. He will do well.” Fingon drummed his fingers on the table. “Maybe I can stay home and take care of his crops for him. I need to stop dwelling on this, though. I am determined not to let it ruin the evening.  There is cake--unless it is all gone already.”

“Everyone is waiting on you--though, I think we are going to let them wait a little longer,” Gildor decided as he picked up a linen and coaxed Fingon closer to the hot spring.  “I just need to do a little...touch-up,” he settled on, which really resulted in Gildor scrubbing off the remaining cosmetics that Fingon had been wearing. “Casualty of war,” he apologized as Fingon looked at his reflection.

“I have always wondered what the freckles mean,” said Fingon as he touched his cheek, for now with the foundation removed, all of the speckles on his skin were visible.  “Why some of the reborn have a few, and some have many, and then, for me, they are everywhere. I went to a lecture once, and the professor theorized each one represents a sin from the past that we have yet to atone for.  I skipped the reception that night; I had no desire to stay after that statement.”

“I like to think instead that they are the shadows of the stars, and that Varda herself has painted your body with the whole of the night sky.  Obviously, you can think what you want, but despite what little I do think of all the powers beyond, I cannot think they would be so cruel as to cover those who have been released with marks of shame.”  Gildor took hold of Fingon’s hand. “Will you allow me to escort you back to your cake, your Majesty? Your prince awaits, and though he can be patient, the hungry guests may not be. Especially your grandson.  I saw him trying to lick the bottom of the cake as I was leaving to come find you.”

“Oh my.  We cannot have that in the kingdom, can we?”  Fingon took Gildor’s arm and the pair walked back to the house.  “By the way, I resolved the issue of travel.”

“Oh?”

“The tickets that you and Maedhros have are to be used tomorrow.  I traded them to Fëanor and Nerdanel. She wants to return to the mainland as soon as possible because she is due sometime this month, but apparently keeps reminding Fëanor that Maglor arrived early.  Their tickets give us another two weeks to make decisions on who will travel and when.”

“Excellent.  I know that is a relief for me; I am sure it will be for the others.”  Inside the house, they had to walk single file through the crowd. Maedhros was found with an ornate set of servingware while Ereinion held his squirming youngest far enough away so that the cake did not get compromised.  

“The highly anticipated main event is about to start,” announced Maedhros when Fingon reached him.  “Honestly, I do not think anyone here came to see a wedding. I think they all came to eat cake.”

“The cake is the best part of any wedding,” opined Elrohir.  He was standing by almost as impatiently as the children, holding an empty plate with both hands.

“I am telling your wife that,” Elladan playfully threatened.

“She would agree with me,” Elrohir cheerfully said.

“Shall we?  Before a mutiny begins?” asked Maedhros, his arm poised over an upper layer of the cake.

Fingon, who had been admiring the work put into the oversized baked good, tentatively put his hand over Maedhros’.  Together they cut the first slice and slid it onto a plate that was held out for them by Glorfindel. Fingon was about to back away and leave the rest for someone else, but he bumped into Turgon, who was standing nearly too close behind him.  “Now you have to feed it to each other,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Fingon looked from the very tall Elf beside him to the nearly as tall Elf behind him.  “I do not have a fork.”

“You do it with your hands,” Turgon said.

“Who are you, the master of wedding etiquette?” Fingon snapped at his brother.

“When I need to be.”

“You need a hobby.”  Fingon snatched the plate from Glorfindel and tried to pick up a chunk without getting too much frosting on his fingers.  In an epic moment of failure, he ended up with frosting and fruit filling all over his hand as he lifted a mouthful upwards, praying he did not miss his mark.

Maedhros leaned down and managed to eat the cake without getting too much excess on his lips.  He licked it away, and then, as Fingon began to draw back, caught hold of Fingon’s wrist. Very slowly and deliberately, he licked the remainder of the cake crumbs and frosting from Fingon’s hand amid murmurs around the room, and under the scrutiny of Turgon, who was blushing madly and casting his gaze away from them.  Maedhros then loudly sucked on each of Fingon’s fingers to clean them of any excess, letting go of his thumb with a pop. Maedhros slowly turned his head to meet Turgon eye-to-eye and asked, “Like that?”

Turgon said nothing, though a moment later Elenwë pulled him away from the scene with a scolding, “Serves you right,” which made Ereinion snort in the least high-kingly way possible.

Maedhros was far more graceful in serving Fingon, picking up only a morsel and lifting his other hand to place beneath Fingon’s chin as Fingon daintily opened his mouth and ate what Maedhros offered him.  “My king,” whispered Maedhros very low as Fingon swallowed, and they kissed each other gently to the applause of those around them.

“Now cake?” asked the impatient child in Ereinion’s grasp.

Glorfindel, who was now in possession of the servingware, motioned for some of the interns who were enlisted as helpers to come forth with stacks of plates so that cake could be distributed.  (He made sure all of the children and Elrohir got cake first.) The verdict was overwhelmingly positive--even Turgon smiled as the chocolate cake with cherry filling hit his tongue.

“The layers alternate,” explained Erestor to one of the guests complimenting his choices.  “The top half is chocolate and cherry, and the bottom is chocolate and peppermint.”

“You did an excellent job covering the chocolate cake with the white buttercream,” said Aredhel.  “Your ratio of frosting to cake is perfect, and the buttercream is neither too sweet nor too dense.  This is a very impressive cake. How many wedding cakes have you made before?”

Erestor beamed, blushed, and pulled the scarf just a little tighter.  “Just the one.”

“Just this one?” Aredhel questioned.  Erestor nodded. “This is amazing. You did a great job.”  Then Aredhel bellowed to her younger brother, “Argon! Come see this!  This is the first wedding cake Erestor ever made!”

Argon, who had been amusing some of the older children with all of the tricks that Dog Dog knew (and yet were never exploited by the residents of the cottage), stood up and looked over the heads of most of the other guests to see the cake.  “Really?” He shouted back. “I am coming over to get a better look!” Argon looked down at the terrier at his feet and announced, “Come along, King Fingon’s Little Prince Waggles Fluffypaws the Precocious Circus Peanut!”

Obediently, Dog Dog followed.

All of the members of the household, including Asfaloth, turned to look at Fingon, whose cheeks were bright red.  “I told you the dog had a name,” he mumbled.

“Little Prince Waggles?” questioned Gildor.

“I did not name him,” hissed Fingon as Argon joined them.  “Do you think you could just call him Waggles while you are here?” Fingon asked.

“What?  No. If I say ‘Waggles’ everyone will think he is a commoner dog.  Right, King Fingon’s Little Prince Waggles Fluffypaws the Precocious Circus Peanut?”

Dog Dog barked in agreement.

“I still prefer Fursausage,” affirmed Aredhel. 

“Fursausage?  That sounds like something you do not want to find in the larder,” Elladan said.

“So named because on his first day, with his eyes shut and his little legs all squished against his body, he looked like a furry sausage,” explained Aredhel.

“No, his name is King Fingon’s Little Prince Waggles Fluffypaws the Precocious Circus Peanut.”  Argon took a plate of cake from Inarata and tried it. “This is really good cake. This is better than most wedding cakes I have eaten.”

“You do not understand. When no one would provide a name, he was entitled to one. Get it? En- _ titled _ ?” 

Asfaloth, who appeared from seemingly nowhere whinny-guffawed and rapped his knuckles together.

“Dear Asfaloth,” Gildor asked politely, “Most Magnificent Friend of Lord Glorfindel, what is the name of this creature standing here on his four sturdy legs?”

“That’s Dog Dog!” Asfaloth answered brightly, his voice fortunately quieter than an outright yell. “Isn’t that right, Dog Dog?”

Anticipating the fun run through the fields that usually followed Asfaloth paying him attention, Dog Dog barked and danced about on his hind feet, eagerly wagging his tail.

“Well,” Gildor noted airily. “There you have it. The name. May the brother of his majesty Fingon grant his pardon to such an engaging and beloved canine for his clear preference of the appellation Dog Dog.” Gildor made a grand flourish with a few of his kerchiefs, not even appearing to mind when Dog Dog snatched the yellow one and excitedly made his exit via underneath the cake table.

Aredhel looked from Gildor to Argon, and then at the retreating dog.  “He is still Fursausage to me.”  

Argon huffed.

“The wonderful thing about Elven dogs is that they can have as many names as their masters do,” said Elrond sagely.

Gildor smiled at Fingon and shrugged. “Oh, my! I do believe Glorfindel and Inarata could use some help with the cake. Gildor, coming right up!” With a fluff to his hair, he excused himself from further debate.

“I am so glad that he was on my side in the Rivendell years,” Elrond mused. “The alternative would have been unthinkable.”

A loud knock upon the door startled the household and their guests.  “Are we expecting anyone else?” asked Erestor as he went to answer the door.

He opened the door to find a man with a sour expression standing with his hand on the shoulder of a slightly squirmy elfling who was wearing only his britches and a pair of slippers.  Beside the man stood a woman with an equally undesirable look on her face. “May I help you?” Erestor asked with uncertainty as he pulled at the fabric of his scarf.

“Are you the troublemaker who told my boy here he should be some damn faggot?” growled the man.

“No one told me to be I want to be!” shouted the boy.

Erestor’s chest rose and fell twice as he surveyed the family standing on the doorstep.  Behind him, all sound of nearby mirth stopped and several of the guests came closer to the door to see what was the matter.  He swallowed hard, as his mouth was dry and the words swimming in his head were not the sort of thing he wanted to say in front of a young child.  Luckily for him, Gildor suddenly came to his rescue.

“Eruglar, how good to see you again!”  Gildor stooped and bowed and stood again.  “One faggot, at your service,” he said loudly.  “What can I do for you fine folk this evening?”

“Here,” the man said gruffly, shoving the boy forward so that he was propelled into Gildor’s legs.  “I am not going to have filth at my dinner table about how… fucking great faggots are,” he spat out. “Not when I have to put up with you lot running around here, pretending it is just well and fine to have blasphemous marriages with each other!  Shame on you all!” He pointed a finger at the boy, who now turned around. “When you stop fucking around with this ‘faggot phase’ of yours, you can come home. Until then, he is your problem, faggot,” he sneered at Gildor.

The pair was halfway down the walk when Gildor called out, “That would be Lord Faggot, if you please.”

Both turned around, and the man glared.  “What?!”

“Lord Faggot, of the Faggot Kingdom, darling.”

The man looked as if he was going to come back to the cottage, but then shook his head.  “Stupid queer,” he muttered loud enough for many of the guests near the door to hear.

Eruglar only sighed.  “I think I really made him upset, but at least he did not make me suck on that soap cake tonight.”

It was not long before Maedhros joined them, and Fingon and Glorfindel close behind.  “What are you doing here?” asked Maedhros, who lifted the boy up.

If Eruglar noticed Maedhros’ returned hand, he said nothing, and treated him like an old friend.  “I came down to dinner tonight wearing pink, because my sister said pink is the color of the season this year, and when I told my teacher that I want to be a faggot, and my teacher said I should not use that word, I said I could because all the faggots in the Faggot Kingdom say faggot.  So then she told me to use homosexual instead, which does not sound as classy, but I like her so I do that when I talk to her to make her happy. She told me a lot of things about being a faggot, and she said she notices they are usually very fashionable, so I wore pink to dinner. My father said ‘get that off right now! go put on a shirt that is a boy color!’ and I told him pink was what everyone was wearing and I could not be a good faggot otherwise, and he was real mad then.  He actually tore the shirt right off, like this!” Eruglar demonstrated with slightly exaggerated movements, but not by much. “So I told him maybe I was born in the wrong place, and I should be here, but he laughed at me and said children could not be raised without a mother and I said I bet you could,” he said, pointing squarely at Gildor, “because you know everything about being a faggot because you are the most dedicated faggot, and he said he doubted it and if I said faggot once more he was going to bring me over here and leave me here.  What is a queer?” he asked innocently to Maedhros.

“We shall have to find you a new shirt,” Maedhros said.  

Ereinion, who was nearby, touched Maedhros’ shoulder.  “We have some things for my son up in our room that should fit.  My wife is getting something for him.”

“Thank you,” said Maedhros, who then asked Eruglar, “What did you say to make your father bring you here?”

“You want me to tell you?” asked Eruglar sneakily.

Maedhros nodded.  “If you want to tell me.”

Eruglar bit his bottom lip as he smiled.  “Ready for it?”

Maedhros nodded again.

Eruglar took a deep breath and said in a loud and cheerful voice of varying pitches and tones, “Faggot! Faggot! Faggot! Faggot! Faggot! Faggot! Faggot!”

“Bravo!” said Gildor.  He noticed the look Fingon was giving him, as well as all of the other baffled guests surrounding them, and cleared his throat.  “We, ah, we should probably discuss the, uh, proper use of… well, that can wait. Clothing, and supper, for if I am not mistaken, you did not have any tonight?”

“Yes, please,” said Eruglar.

“I will get something for him!” announced Inarata.  “There is lots of food! I will be right back!”

“He probably wants some cake, too,” said Elrohir, who went to retrieve that.

“Uh, Gildor, do you mind clarifying for me what manner of greater plan you have envisioned for...this?” Glorfindel asked in a low, rushed voice, indicating the entirety of their circumstances with their new and very young friend.

“It is not obvious, Lord Glorfindel?” Gildor smiled. “We have a new subject in the Kingdom of Faggots!”

Illiholmo grabbed hold of Laechenn’s arm excitedly.  “If there is a ‘Kingdom of Faggots’, I want to live there!” 

“I believe we have found it!” Laechenn replied.

Erestor massaged his forehead. “First off, we are not going to use that word any longer.” Turning to Eruglar, he knelt down to speak to the boy at his own eye level. “Since my companions here are enjoying themselves a little too much, I will explain to you that ‘faggot’ is not a nice word. It is one that others use to mean that males who prefer males are bad, wrong, without worth. You see, before they used that term, a faggot was just a bundle of kindling, and then people started to think that was all those men were good for--kindling for a fire, nothing more, and many in less nice places in the world did indeed get killed that way.  Better words are what your teacher explained. ‘Homosexual’ or even ‘queer’ are far more polite. As you can see, there is already a lack of politeness in this world because people are not educated to know any better.” As Erestor spoke, Sinaryn came back down the stairs, shaking her head to Ereinion, who gave Gildor an apologetic look. Gildor only shrugged.

“Does that mean I have to go back home?” Eruglar asked, tilting his head. Everyone in the room shifted their gaze away from the boy and stared at Erestor in open curiosity.

“No,” Erestor said softly. “You are welcome here, if here is where you want to be. We will not turn you aside. But I do want you to realize that there are many hurtful people in the world who will be very unkind to you if you throw your lot in with us. We will accept you for who you are, Eruglar. But others may not be nearly so open-minded.”

“Erestor is right,” added Maedhros.  “It is not a nice word. But I will stand by why we used it.  When you take something meant to hurt you and you face it -- you just, keep on using it, knowing it is meant to be hurtful, but not giving a flying f---”  Maedhros swallowed the curse and settled for, “--leap what anyone thinks, you take that power away from that word. That was what we were doing. For you, you used that word to give you power in a different way.  You did not let it be something bad or wrong, but you meant it as something wonderful and I am proud of you for that. That said, I agree with Erestor. There are other words that are far more positive that we can use.”

“Oh,” the child said thoughtfully. “So...I can wear pink here?”

“Pink, fuschia, rose, carmine, amaranth, and all the pretty pinks in between!”  Gildor held out his hand. “There happen to be some chests in the basement of costume clothing, and I think we might find something in there about your size -- or, close enough to grow into.  Shall we?” Eruglar nodded with excitement, and Gildor whisked him away to the lower level, leaving Maedhros and Fingon to answer the many questions from Glorfindel and Erestor while Aredhel, Elrond, and Ereinion managed to disperse most of the crowd back into the common areas or to the lawn for dancing.

“Do tell,” Glorfindel said to Maedhros, leaning casually against the tall frame. “We are seriously going to raise this young one? I mean, this is not just a passing fancy. Erestor and I have done this more than once and it is a great deal of work. There can be heartache. If he stays here, we are committing to do our best to care for him. He cannot just be an amusement or a diversion.”

Fingon appeared taken aback, and almost a little hurt.  “Three children, all under the age of ten, all at the same time, during a time of war,” he nearly snapped.  “I know how hard it is to raise elflings. Despite not being able to be there for them as long as I would have liked on account of my death, I like to think they all turned out well enough.  One of them was High King for an entire age.”

Maedhros put a hand on Fingon’s shoulder to calm him, but added, mirthfully in his case, “Hi, my brother and I rescued twins -- oh, right, you know Elrond already.”  Maedhros gave it a moment before he added, “You do not have to tell either of us how hard it is to be a father. The person you need to yank aside and shake sense into is Gildor, because, while I love him dearly and deeply, that is the man who leaves animals in his wake like breadcrumbs in a fairy story.  I cringe to think what would happen if he had children, and yet, that seems to suddenly be the case.”

Glorfindel met both of their eyes and nodded, before looking down. “I will warm some milk for him.  I know that always made my son feel better after a bad day,” he mentioned quietly before slipping away to the kitchen, blinking back tears as he went.

Maedhros now placed his hand on Fingon’s back and gave him a little shove.  “Go,” he directed, and gave a nod in the direction that Glorfindel had gone.

With a little sigh laced with belated regret, Fingon marched himself into the kitchen to find Glorfindel trying to busy himself with the task.  Fingon took a spoon from the drawer as he considered his words before he approached Glorfindel. “Fin, I am sorry. I know you are being cautious, and... “  He lowered his voice. “I think if I had lost a child, and someone else just happened to have one practically thrown at them, I would be frustrated and pissed off and angry and devastated.  I have no idea what you are feeling, and I will never be able to grasp an understanding of what it is like to be you and go through that day after day, but I love you, and I wish I could do more than listen and offer you my love and compassion.”  Fingon dared reach up to touch Glorfindel’s cheek. “That day I brought Maglor back and I made all those demands on who was to be released from the Halls of Waiting… I wish I had known about your son then, Glorfindel. I know how special children are.  I would have gladly traded places with him to have given him back to you.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes but leaned into the touch. Moving forward, he wrapped his arms around Fingon tightly. He said nothing, but his body spoke eloquently enough. Erestor had followed, staying back a little distance. Now, however, he joined them, coming behind Glorfindel to enfold him between them. It was Erestor that began the gentle swaying motion, imitating the lightest rocking of a small boat.

“Do you want me to speak for you, Fin?” Erestor asked quietly, unsurprised when the golden head nodded. Moistening his lips, Erestor chose his words carefully. “It is not about Indelion’s loss, Káno. At least, not like you are guessing. His hurt is more complex than that. Much of it was seeing that boy’s father. He remembers how badly he was abused by Angrod; how he was reviled and beaten. Unlike Eruglar, he was terrorized until he had to run away, with no one to guide or help him. He remembers the child he once was, and to see another youth being rejected in a similar manner with no warning about any of this is difficult. Fin never meant to accuse you, Maedhros or Gildor of not knowing how to parent a child. It is that he knows you can lose what you have, and is overwhelmed. Please understand, this came out of nowhere for him, at the end of an already emotional day.”

Hardly had Erestor finished his words before a hitched breath followed by tears erupted against Fingon.

“He also wants you to know that he loves you very much, and feels horrible that he cannot speak for himself, though I have already told him he has nothing for which to apologize.” Erestor smoothed the beautiful hair. “In a strange way, we have often been each other’s courage. I have used my gift of eloquence to help him express himself at times he cannot marshal his thoughts well enough to speak aloud. His physical bravery has stood in my defense more times than I can count. Now we are fortunate enough to have you also, with your wisdom and compassion, and to have Maedhros and Gildor here, too.” Erestor’s hand reached beyond Glorfindel to caress Fingon’s cheek, before it returned to soothing Glorfindel.

“There is a lot for me to process from what you just said,” admitted Fingon.  “My wisdom and compassion, however, are in fact concerned about what is currently happening in this house, and that is I am not confident about Gildor’s abilities to rear a child, especially if Maedhros and I intend to go to the mainland for an extended period in short order.  I think right now I would put more faith in Asfaloth,” he said. “Actually, that is unfair to Asfaloth. I would indeed entrust him to raise a child. I would put more faith in the dog, whatever his name is,” amended Fingon. “The only thing that does not stop me from flailing about this is the fact that Gildor is married to someone who I am confident has excellent parenting skills.  Between getting to know Elrond and the assistance given to me with Ereinion, Maedhros is a fantastic father figure.”

“Thank you,” came the voice of Maedhros.  He had crept into the room and was standing at the doorway.  “I think I ultimately need to be the one to discuss the next steps with Gildor.  May I suggest, considering what sounds like a need to have a discussion of your own, that you may wish to retire for the evening?  I think I can handle the guests and warming some milk. Ereinion and Aredhel are out there working the crowd, and Elrond has the cake under control.  Maglor and Finrod are making sure the music continues, and my father is out on the lawn telling stories. I think you are free to sneak away, unless you really want to rejoin later.”

Fingon held Glorfindel close, trying his best to soothe his husband while he considered Maedhros’ words--not needing very long. “Agreed.” Turning, he began to gently propel Glorfindel out of the kitchen with Erestor’s aid. When Erestor passed Maedhros, a smile of genuine thanks and gratitude was given, and in a raw moment of honesty, he stretched up to kiss Maedhros before they left the kitchen. The trio made their way upstairs, opting to go to the room they had on the second floor, and closed the door behind them. For a long while, nobody spoke as they took comfort from each other in silence. It was finally was broken by Glorfindel.

“Thank you both,” he said, sniffling. “I will support Eruglar being here if that is what everyone wants. I would do anything to keep him from what befell me.”

“As would I,” Erestor agreed, kissing Glorfindel on the back of the neck.

For a while, Fingon simply kept them both in a tight embrace as he sorted out his thoughts.  “There are a lot of ‘what-ifs’ with this situation,” Fingon finally said. “Those need to be addressed in the morning.  Right now, what I am most concerned about is your well-being, sunshine.” Fingon nuzzled at Glorfindel. “The only thing I am certain of at the moment is that things were far worse for you than I was previously aware.  If you are willing to speak of it, I would like to know what happened to you to have triggered your responses tonight.”

And then it was midnight.

  
  



End file.
